Communion, Forgiveness and Recovery

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This do in remembrance of Me

Last Sunday, I held the small piece of bread in my left hand, and the tiny plastic glass of ‘wine’ in my right. The pastor recited a prayer, and with my eyes closed, I recalled the last time I’d taken communion. It was at Linda’s funeral, in a Catholic church. No, I’m not Catholic, but I am a rebel. Therefore I’ll be damned if anyone will tell me whether or not I can partake of the body and blood of my Lord Jesus Christ. I grinned at the memory while I chewed and drank. I had to stay seated during communion because my newly mended right ankle was achy and stiff.

The pastor spoke of finding joy in our nearness to God. That happiness is fleeting, but joy is everlasting. As the lesson continued, I began to do my daily ankle exercises. I pointed my right toes as far forward as I could and held them there for ten seconds. I released the stretch and pulled my toes up toward the sky as far as I could. I held the stretch for another ten seconds, repeating each stretch 15 times. Then came the side to side stretches. The sermon progressed and I placed my right foot back on the floor. It didn’t ache nearly as much as it did before I stretched the Achilles tendon six ways from Sunday.

A particular bible verse struck a raw emotional nerve and I began to cry. Don’t ask me what it was about, because I can’t recall it. All I know is it had something to do with paying for indiscretions and mistakes. That once we are forgiven by God, we must learn to forgive ourselves. As I wiped my eyes, Laura asked if I was all right, and I assured her I was. That I was better than all right. That I was forgiven.

After the sermon ended, we made our way to the back of the church. My ankle was stiff as I began to walk, but I noticed that I no longer had any pain. The familiar ache had disappeared! A smile spread across my face and was lit by the morning sun. I walked with almost an entirely normal gait. I felt free for the first time since March 11, 2014. I. Was. Free!

It’s Wednesday night and the pain has not returned. I’ve had a few twinges here and there, but that’s because I had a very intense physical therapy session on Tuesday afternoon. On March 12, 2014 after 5.5 hours or reconstructive surgery on my right ankle, my life changed. I know it will never be the same, but I am assured with God’s grace and love I have recovered.

 

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Angel Kisses and Bette Davis Eyes

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I slather Oil of Olay on my slightly wrinkled face. I’m fair complected, and my eyes are striking. I want so badly to look like Marilyn Monroe, but I’m a Bette Davis. As my fingers make delicate circular motions, the tiny wrinkles are quenched with precious fluid. They seem to disappear. I ponder my image in the bathroom mirror and grin. Laugh lines crinkle around my eyes, but I don’t care. The luminescence in my baby blues won’t be extinguished. Even with the passing of time.

I apply a dollop of eye cream on the translucent skin under the eye and then under the eyebrow. I notice that my brows are lightening with age. Someday, they’ll disappear entirely. My eye cream is nothing magical. There’s no placenta, seaweed extract or anything exotic. I like simple. A pure cream that will fill in the little lines and hold the tiniest bit of concealer under my eyes. I need to hide those Gucci bags that sometimes appear, for God’s sake.

My grin doesn’t falter as I trace my fingers across my cheekbones. I take comfort in my skin, though marred by time and flecked with age spots. I touch the Marilyn Freckle between my right nostril and the apple of my cheek. I chuckle because, it is a natural beauty mark. Some women want it so badly, they have it permanently tattooed on their faces. Mine, just comes naturally.

I’m blessed with so many “Angel Kisses”. I told my children when they were young, that angels kissed their cheeks, arms, and legs while they slept. How else could one explain all those little flecks of melanin on the skin? They’d laugh and roll their eyes at me, of course.

I place the foam tip applicator on the skin under my eye. It provides a small amount of coverage for the dark circles that sometimes appear. Inserting the applicator back in the tube and grabbing a tad more on the tip, I add a few dots of it around my nostrils. Not to hide any flaws, but to shade the broken capillaries that have sprouted due to my bouts with alcohol abuse.

Next comes the wild hued eyeliner. What color will it be? Purple, green, blue, gold, hmmmmmm? I think purple will work. Liquid, dark, and sensuous. Jet black mascara is a must. Strange color I know, for a blonde haired and blue eyed bombshell. As my Adam Boy continually points out, I’m anything but conventional. So Jet black mascara it must be.

Wrinkles, age spots and a myraid of other flaws be damned! I’ve come to realize that life is so much better with a few miles under the hood, and lines on my face. It sure the hell beats being 20 years old any day. As long I don’t look like a truck ran over my face, I’m doing just fine.