Psalms for Addicts - Psalm 143

Hear my cry, oh God
Turn your ear to me.
Enfold me in love.
Bring me relief.
For you are faithful goodness,
And know I am already yours.
Do not judge me for my human weakness.
While on earth, none of us can live the pure goodness that is you.

Addictions pursue me.
They have crushed me to the ground.
They have turned my life dark.
I am like the dead, long forgotten.
Your spirit is faint within me.
My heart despairs.

I remember the ancient teaching,
And meditate on the wonder of earth - the work of your hands.
Yet I thirst!
I thirst for you.
I am a parched land crying out, desperate for water,
Stretching my hands to you.

Answer me now,
Before my spirit fails.
Do not hide your face from me,
Or I will be lost in the pit of death.
This morning let me hear your words,
And feel your unfailing love.
Set my feet on the path I should walk.
Then I will trust in you.

My life is yours.
Help me understand that you are my true refuge.
Destroy the hold of my addictions.
Let me know your desire.
Let your breath fill my lungs.
I will walk the terrible crags of addiction as if they were level ground.
You will be all I worship.
And I will rest in trust.

Save my life.
Through the mystery of infinite unconditional love,
Silence the voices of my addictions.
Destroy them.
In Your endless compassion,
Heal my suffering.
Let me know that I am already yours.

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A Parkinson's Peak

"Read to me on evolution," my uncle said as I came in Saturday. "Give her the book so she can read to me," he told the caregiver, shaking a slim volume on evolution that came with our subscription to Scientific American. "Your Ph.D. was on evolution. You should like this," he continued.

After dinner I read to him from the book. Then he asked me to look him up on the computer. I did and found a lot of his old papers... And a newspaper with his name among other young men who had just been discharged after WWII. I showed him the newspaper on my laptop, and read out titles of his research. He talked about various co-authors: the crazy student who broke all the glassware in the lap, and the reliable student who died in China of kidney failure, the nasty lab head who purloined my uncle's postdoc work, and the kind lab head who encouraged a group of young researchers.

"It's good to know my work hasn't just disappeared," he said dropping into a moment of sadness.

"It hasn't. Your work is still out there. You're famous," I said.

"Tell them the famous biochemist has gone to bed," he said later, laughing as he clumped down the hall leaning on his walker, one foot dragging.

None of which sounds terribly earth shattering except I haven't heard that much energy, or intelligence, from my uncle in a long time.

We had a substitute caregiver that day. The man loved to talk, and knew how to draw my uncle out of the vague country his mind so often wandered. Our present regular caregiver is meticulous in his physical care, but never talks to my uncle except to give instructions as part of that physical care.

More importantly, Parkinson's can be an up and down disease. Facilities return that have been missing for awhile, and then disappear again. Today, my uncle was equally bright-eyed and awake. How long will this energetic, intelligent period last? There is no way to know.

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