Others would run and dance around the perimeter of the vacant seats. Laughing and moving by each chair quite quick, they seemed oblivious to the ticks of time. They delighted in the moment, never dwelling near a seat. They danced and pirouetted with blithe as if decorated horses and figurines, dipping and spinning on an old-fashioned calliope carousel. The children had no sense of the event to come much like the blocks of the carved wood they reminded me of.
All the others fell somewhere in between, more balanced. They enjoyed the music’s rhythm and played with a passion. Although they played unfettered and had fun, they also had a strategy. They were tuned in and prepared.
It was interesting to watch each type as the game progressed. Those filled with trepidation did not smile and did not thrive in the tension and excitement. When caught without a seat, they seemed sullen and bitter. I wondered if they felt that somehow they should be guaranteed a win. They played so prepared, always close to a seat. Yet the game denied them and they were forced to leave. Did they understand they could not last forever? They denied themselves the joy of playing and were unprepared for the end. They seemed to act almost as if betrayed.
Those who were so cavalier reacted with similar hurt and anger. When the music stopped, it caught them unaware. Off balance and a distance from any chair, they pushed and shoved towards a seat. When they found it occupied, they were resentful and mean spirited. This abrupt ending marred all their fun. So whimsical at the start, they ended dejected and hostile.
Those who played with some forethought, enjoying the game but watchful, took their elimination the best. Darting toward a seat and losing, they would laugh. They had fun and played the game.
Some threw up their hands as if to say, “Well, I tried!”
This museful memory about a childhood game was much more. I saw it as a metaphor for life.
While at church one Sunday, I listened to our associate pastor at St. Louis DeMontfort, Father Tom Murray. His homily dealt with the reasons why things happen to us in life.
“Consider the significance of events in your lives. What do they mean?” Father Tom asked the parishioners.
Outside church after Mass, I told him the homily was poignant for me.
“I have been asking myself that very same question for two and a half years. Why did I get ALS” I rhetorically asked him. Only I had the answer.
Ever since hanging up and breaking down following the fatal phone call, I wondered why this happened to me. That first night was the longest of my life. In the darkness beyond midnight, I laid in bed unable to sleep. I felt such overwhelming vulnerability and fear. My diagnosis for a slow and agonizing death brought on by increasing paralysis was terrifying. Not a single muscle to move, no arms or hands to control, no head to turn, no voice to talk, nor tongue to swallow. In the end, no lungs to breath. Yet, all during this physical decay, I would keep a vibrant and clear intellect.
I lamented in the smothering blackness, “Oh, my Dear God! How can this be? What will I do?” I wondered aloud, “How can I go on and face this awful future. What about my family? My children? Why did it happen?”
Through God’s grace, I coped and lived beyond the statistical average for survival. I remain able to eat and take a few steps with support. I can still speak to those familiar with my voice.
More than that, I had a spiritual rebirth. Through the power of God’s help, I came to think of my illness as a wonderful invitation.
He invited me, “Consider the meaning and value of your life,” before the music stopped.
After diagnosis, I faced a lingering death marked by hopelessness and despair. I could have sought solace in the temporary pleasures that binges would bring. I could succumb to a hedonistic desire to ‘do it all’ before it is over. Credit cards could finance world travel, expensive cars, all night parties, exorbitant meals and luxurious clothing. I thought of the bumper sticker.
“He who dies with the most toys wins! Now, THAT would be some pity party!” I said to myself. God knows, that route was tempting for a while.
In the midst of this fog of fear, another vague choice began to take form. From inside, a deeper meaning for my existence and a real value in my life began to take shape. This disease could be a vehicle to true fulfillment and redemption. God willing, I was realizing this disease was not an end but the start of a new journey.
Before Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis struck me, I breezed through life on the outskirts of faith. I went through the perfunctory steps of my faith. I had my children baptized (my son Christopher William by Father Tom in 1985). In reality however, I was oblivious to my mortality and what lies beyond. I was certainly unprepared for the music to stop.
I lived the ‘good life’ of pleasures of the world, seduced by its glamour and intellect. True, I was not an evil person. Neither did I have God as the center of my life. I was kind and a good citizen. I tried it on my own terms, to be a person of character and sower of goodness. I was close, but not close enough! I was unprepared to die and face eternity.
“Chris, the music is going to stop!” God told me in specific terms.
Rather than ending the music, He gave me more time that is precious. I received a second life, one with ALS. This time was a gift beyond my worth. It brought immeasurable joy along with the pain. I experienced the profound simple pleasures of life through new eyes. I lived, learned to accept help and, in turn, help others. I have touched the lives of many through advocacy. Who would ever have dreamed I would be able to raise over eight million dollars to fight ALS?
Now reflecting on the sermon’s question, ‘Why did this happen and what does it mean?’ has an answer. This disease is not a result. It is not an end. I believe this disease was a beginning. God, in a wisdom so perfect we can’t imagine, invited me back to faith. Through His Grace, I had the strength to believe and turn away from the glitter of fool’s gold. I turned toward the true light. I accepted the invitation.
There is no doubt I will live a life full of richness and happiness. It was certainly not the life I planned in my human vanity. Nevertheless, this is the life I was given. Since becoming ill, God surrounds me with countless expressions of His love. A loving family and wonderful friends encircle me. He has affirmed my life. He has shown me that I have not lived in vain.
I understand life is like a game of musical chairs. I was one of those children who danced oblivious to the impending end of music. I pranced through life unaware of my mortality. Luckily for my eternal soul, the music did not stop. God in His mercy paused the game. He gave me an undeserved chance to play again.
I rekindled my faith and found the true inner peace that The Lord provides for those who seek it. Unexplainable to some, my life has been fuller and happier than ever before. Of course, it is not without pain, sorrow and worry. These we all must have. I have fears and doubts too. My life focused as a result. Like some of the children of the musical chairs, I now have a strategy. I am finally playing the game and enjoying it too.
The healing that everyone prayed so hard for me to receive has indeed come. My soul is healthy, my spiritual health restored and I am strong. With His sustaining Grace, I shall continue. I want to live long in the shadow of Him. I am the clay and He is the potter. I am not concerned any longer about when the music will stop. He is the only one who knows for certain, so why dwell on it. Besides, there is nothing to worry about when it does stop.
The intense anxiety I had about my family lessened, as I trusted. I believe God will provide. The more I seek His strength and peace, the more He sends. We will face the trials together, with courage and faith. Held within God’s arms, we shall not want.
When I consider that the music could have stopped before this invitation, I realize just how lucky I am.
Am I sick and dying? Hell No! I have