Current altitude:
37,001 feet
Current airspeed:
627 miles per hour
Current location:
Somewhere “over the pond” on a flight from Dallas, Texas to London.
Current temperature:
-38° fahrenheit
Distance from destination;
1,466 miles
Time to destination:
Two hours fifty seven minutes
These long flights are killers, man. Normally, my modus operandi on a 9-hour flight is: watch three long movies and then BOOM! You’re there.
But this time my attention span is nil. I started five different movies, but got no more than 43 minutes into any of them. I’ve only stood up twice to stretch so far, which, admittedly, is not smart on my part. But it’s such a hassle to stand up that I usually just sit here and suffer.
My short attention span is solely due to the poor soul in the seat in front of me.
He looks to be about my age; late 50s or so. You can tell he’s worked to keep himself in shape: neatly trimmed hair and beard, expensive sweat suit (not like me, in my lounge pants and GWAR T-shirt).
But the poor soul can barely walk. He’s in a TREMENDOUS amount of pain, and even standing up from his seat is a major ordeal.
He’s wearing a black facemask, which seems to accent his eyes even more. And it’s those eyes that haunt me, preventing me from sleeping.
He has perhaps the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.
His eyes say, “I wasn’t always like this. I used to jog every day. I went to the gym three times a week. My diet was healthy and my job paid well. I was living the dream.
“But now I’m just a hollow shell of my former self.
“I wasn’t always like this.”
Yeah, I know that sadness, man.
My mom passed away three days after Mother’s Day and three days before my and Laura’s wedding anniversary, and we just put her in the ground yesterday.
In going through old pictures for Mom’s funeral video, fond memories came flooding back of her being so young, vibrant and strong. Laughing from her soul, with genuine smiles. Not like the forced smiles of her older self, wading through the muck of pain and near paralysis to try and locate some faint semblance of joy of her former self.
She was the most independent person I’ve ever known, male or female. Time took that away, but eternity has given it back in spades.
There were pictures of aunts, on cruises, hosting Halloween parties and just hanging out, but who have also passed on. Still life photos of uncles with whom I used to play football, who are now either wracked with the agony of old age or gone on to meet their Maker.
I was also reminded of the “young me.” Baseball, track, football, and the church camp all-star volleyball team. Now every step is a chore.
“Keep moving forward,” I have to tell myself. “Walk straight. Ignore the pain. Watch out, don’t trip!”
But I’m not sad. It’s bizarre, but I’m happy. I can’t believe I’m saying that after 43 years of chronic pain, arthritis, scoliosis, spinal stenosis, degenerative disc disease, and three back surgeries, the last one being a 10-level spinal fusion on July 3, 2025.
After that horrific procedure I had to learn to walk again. I would lie there in the worst pain of my life, listening to worship music or heavy metal, or watching “The Greatest Showman,” which I viewed about twice a day, simply because it made me smile in the midst of easily flowing tears and fitful, two-hour sleeping binges.
I started referring to the process as “my journey out of hell” because HELL was the only word I could think of to even get close to describing my agony.
I was at home every day for four months, and when I returned to work I barely made it three hours the first day before I had to go home. I was in the office three hours daily for at least a month, slowly building my time up to where I can now make it a full eight hours.
I asked the HR Director if there was a couch in an empty office where I could lie down halfway through the day, to stretch my back out, rest my body and make it through the whole day. She found a couch that was barely being used and moved it to an empty office for me. She even put a sign above the couch:
“For Rob Weddle use only. Thank you!”
So, to my “brother in pain” in front of me: I’ve been through hell, and I’m so sorry you’re going through this. It breaks my heart, dude.
But the major reason I’m happy is that God has given me peace. He’s wrapped His mighty arms around me, and used a plethora of methods to do it:
The comfort of a patient and loving Savior
The mighty and unyielding love of my beautiful wife
The encouragement, love and laughter of my kids and grandkids
The support, prayers and friendship of my church family
So while I don’t know your specific physical issue, I pray Jesus Christ will sweep mightily through your soul. I pray He puts the smile back on your face.
And I pray those sad eyes glisten again.
Never give up…
Never give in…
Never surrender…
AFTERTHOUGHT: I wrote this on the plane, but after we landed, I ended up sitting in a holding area with this gentleman, both of us waiting on a wheelchair. He commented on my GWAR shirt, and said he had seen them live a few years ago, and how much fun they were in concert. We then talked about our pain, and he said he had had a four-level fusion not too long ago. I told him about my surgery, and Laura showed him a picture of my scar. When we left, I clasped his hand and told him I was praying for him. He could tell I was sincere, and told me he would also pray for me. What a blessing to be able to encourage people through not only our pain but theirs!
Broken People 