The Machine

The machine known as me is breaking down with age
Yet, inner youth at full capacity pursues something new
Bifocal prism lenses bring fading details back into clarity
A hearing aid now amplifies sounds the journey makes

My blood pressure oscillates beyond normal boundaries
And is now managed with a daily low dose prescription
An MRI found neck vertebrae bone spurs causing pain
It too is softened with nerve blockers meant for epilepsy

The machine is shrinking, bones collapsed from the years
Despite that, it bounces along from love’s gift of inner joy
A long succession of PSA results are finally proven false
Then blood found where it should not be, other tests begun

Here it goes again, ultrasounds, CAT scans, will it end
New invasive procedures must probe inside while I sleep
But still peace reigns in my soul, life remains good to me
Christ holds my hand, fear gone as I draw from the well

Confidence through everything, my mission feels secure
These encroaching walls cannot stop what can go through
Harmony leads as origin is located in the calming storm
that Christ stills, as faith begins to trust what it cannot see

Fuel for this machine comes from a source requiring belief
An endless energy supply given even in my imperfections
Of broken, damaged parts, functioning outside their capacity
Odd to use these instead of those of seemingly more strength

I can only imagine for God it does not matter, the machine
His beauty reflects outward from love’s overflowing heart
Perhaps He can do more from here than what is physical
As this machine is breaking down but has lots of life left


No doubt as we age our bodies have to continually adjust. For me that means I need a variety of mechanical and medical assistance. Age also heightens our doctor’s need to review subtle changes from normal. During a physical, my doctor had found an abnormally high PSA.  This turned out to be a false positive, but during that process, additional tests found two other possible cancers.  

I had to have a battery of testing done to determine the sources, culminating in an invasive process that again proved false positive. While I had brief moments of concern, all I kept thinking is, I felt great, God had to be propping me up. I discovered that for reasons I’ll never know in this life that God still works with imperfect machines.

For further reflection: Psalm 100