Column: Living with humility can be a tough life lesson

I’m learning humility and it’s not easy.

I’m stubborn by nature but the lesson of humility is compulsory. Though I “kick against the goads,” I’m obliged to learn it.

Unavoidably, I’m left reeling … and humbled.

I prefer to be in control and, frankly, it chaps my hide that I’m not. To expect otherwise, however, would be delusional. God alone is commander of this supertanker. I’m just a tin of sardines in the hold.

I have Parkinson’s disease, and must depend on others. I don’t like that — after all, I have my pride. I also have no choice in the matter.

I’m beginning to see clearly the boundaries of my life. They’re certain and absolute, and the horizon is unmistakable.

I no longer drive a car so I depend upon my wife, Hedy, to schlep me about. I also have my good buddy from Orange Coast College, Leon Skeie. Leon, a devout Christian, calls me (in jocular tones) his “chauffeuring ministry.”

But I hate depending on others. It underscores my weaknesses.

Here’s an example of my burden:

I walked into church the other morning and a greeter handed me a bulletin. I took it with my left hand, which also gripped my Bible. I held the cane I use for balance with my right. I walked a few steps and fumbled the grip on my cane.

It clattered to the floor.

As I reached down to pick it up, the bulletin — containing several inserts — slid off my Bible and deposited its contents on the floor. My glasses then tumbled from my shirt pocket and snapped on the tile pavement. Ugh.

Half bent over, I hovered momentarily. A young man immediately came to my rescue as I clumsily groped for my scattered goods. I felt like a clown.

With me, it’s about image.

“Let me help, sir,” the young man said as he swept the items off the floor. Though I felt gratitude for his kindness, in the same moment I felt humiliated. Others filing into the sanctuary couldn’t help but notice my embarrassment.

I’m sure I appeared to the young man to be a doddering old coot, and I hated the fact that he might be right.

There I go again, trying to deduce another’s thoughts and probably getting them wrong. The world doesn’t revolve around me.

Get over yourself, Jimmy.

Parkinson’s is a progressive neurological disorder with no known cure. It causes nerve cells to die or become impaired, and patients exhibit such symptoms as tremors or shaking, slowness of movement, rigidity or stiffness, loss of facial mobility, and balance difficulties. Other signs include a shuffling gait, cognitive problems and muffled speech.

My dad died of it.

I was diagnosed a dozen years ago. The disease has advanced to its present state where my symptoms are noticeable, even to the uninitiated. Two years ago that wasn’t the case.

It’ll continue to get worse, and I’ll eventually enter the much-dreaded land of enfeeblement. I’m not happy about that.

I recently attended my 4-year-old grandson’s preschool Christmas program. Hedy and I had to park some distance from the performance hall.

As we stepped from the car a guy in a golf cart screeched to a halt in front of me.

“Can I give you a lift to the front door, sir?” Very thoughtful, but a further humiliation.

“Do I look like I need assistance?”

That’s what I felt like saying, but didn’t. My better angels prevailed.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

I used to run 10K races, and go on 20-mile runs up the Santa Ana River. I regularly ran the beach from the Newport Pier to the Wedge and back. I took pride in pushing myself. Now, I accept golf cart charity pickups.

And I rage against the dying of the light.

For whatever it’s worth, I offer this advice: Take a breath and resolve to fight the good fight. Then, accept the likelihood that you’ll be humbled. It’s OK. You’ll learn truths that you’ve never before considered.

God is teaching me patience … and his grace is sufficient.

He has my undivided attention.

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.