Giving Myself Away

A quiet reading.

I had to give up my volunteer work at the Food Bank.

My wife and I have been going once a week for a couple of hours. Volunteer work is never really work. But tell that to my back.

I’ve had a “bad back” for several years. Twenty years ago, a physical therapist told me it wasn’t a question of if I would need surgery, but when. Thankfully, so far, I’ve avoided the knife.

Still, giving up the Food Bank makes me sad.

It felt right to spend that time helping others. And there was something especially good about doing it alongside my wife. I wasn’t ready to give that up.

But my back seems to have something to say about it.

My body is getting older. I know that. What I am beginning to hear more clearly is that getting older sometimes asks us to make choices we do not want to make. Do I give up something meaningful to take care of my back? Or do I keep doing something I love because it is meaningful?

Perhaps those are not the only choices.

It is easy to recognize volunteer work when there is someplace to go, something to lift, something to do. We can count the hours. We can see what was accomplished.

But maybe I have been thinking too narrowly about what it means to volunteer.

Maybe it isn't really about work at all.

Maybe it is about gifting.

Gifting something of ourselves.

There are many ways to do that. Some require a strong back. Others may ask for something entirely different.

Perhaps the question is not whether I can keep giving in the way I have been giving. Perhaps the question is whether I am still willing to give myself away in whatever ways remain available to me.

And maybe I need to drop work from the vocabulary altogether.

What is work when so much has been given to me?