Perhaps it goes with the territory: the aging, diminished physical strength, the lapses in the memory, but this week I heard myself apologise for too many things. I needed help with opening a jar, and prefaced my request for assistance with ‘I’m sorry but I can’t get this stupid thing open’... For what was I really apologising? The stupid jar? My ineptitude? I know I am not inept, old injuries have affected the strength in my thumbs. I tell myself they still have a real purpose– they keep my gloves on!
    It’s no secret that those longer lighters that we use to light the Christ Candle in our Sunday morning service have proved to frustrate me. More than once I have turned my back to the congregation as I struggle to flick that bic. Most times I can smile it away, appearing okay with my frustrations. This past Sunday, I picked up the lighter and, knowing the procedure, pulled the trigger. And pulled it again. Then looked for help. A kind soul came and gently showed me exactly how to do it, just the way I had tried!!! Handing it back to me, I tried, again, and handed it back to her! My trigger finger could not exert enough pressure to get the job done. Watch, next Sunday that I lead worship service there, they will kindly ensure that I have an authentic candle lighter.  And, of course, I said ‘I’m sorry.’ And, again, sorry for what? Getting old and worn out? It does not portend well for my future. 
    As part of the family gathering, we play table games. More than once I heard myself quietly apologising, for not catching on to the rules of the game as quickly as I would have liked to. For not always correctly following all the moves and plans of the other players. Like, give myself a break! I’m eighty for goodness sake! You can teach an old dog a new trick, it simply takes longer…
    I’m sorry that it takes me longer to get ready and get out of the house than it used to. I’m sorry that it takes more intention and time to prepare a balanced meal. I’m sorry that I don’t sleep as well as I want to…. man, the list could go on and on.
    I hereby resolve to be gentler with myself. Instead of apologising for taking too long, I will thank others for waiting . ‘Thank you’ sounds so much better than a litany of ‘I’m sorry’. To be fair, it is not often said in a whiny voice, no snivelling or grovelling. I simply hear those words too often, too often unnecessarily. I understand that I am not alone in the struggle to accept and adapt to change, especially uninvited and unexpected changes. They are coming. Some of them are already here! I will continue to rejoice in the abilities that have not diminished. My speech, thank God. My thinking– should perhaps have come before speaking? I’m sorry? For the privilege of growing older? May I be ever grateful for the helping hands and loving hearts that surround me. For that I am not sorry!