Hopscotch

Oh, my. I never knew that hopscotch was a verb. I remember hopscotch as a favorite game and the intense pleasure I took in tossing the stone and hopping around. It was even fun to draw the hopscotch board on the sidewalk with white chalk. (It would have been more fun to use different colors but, alas, we didn’t have those.)

But now, according to Dictionary.com, I find that I can use this noun as a verb, too. In fact, I’ve spent my whole life hopscotching. I’ve hopscotched around the country, living in Michigan, Iowa, Ohio, Missouri, Kansas, and Washington. I’ve hopscotched through jobs like maid, antique shop clerk, library aide, dishwasher, home health aide, and typist before I finally settled on my top box for nineteen years: English instructor.

I’ve also hopscotched through denominations and doctrines: United Methodist, Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, Wesleyan, and Presbyterian. And I’ve hopscotched my way through an array of syndromes, diseases, and conditions within my family: Sjogren’s Syndrome, fibromyalgia, multiple sclerosis, mental illness, dementia, cancer, and Down Syndrome. Some of those boxes have been more painful than others, but all have helped me find more balance.

I like the imagery of hopscotching with its essential elements of purpose, destination, skill, and chance. In the game, your goal is to make it from the first box to the last box and back again. Whether you succeed depends on your balance, skill, and where the stones fall. You can only stand on one foot for so long before moving on.

I hope that I’m planted on both feet now: on Whidbey Island, retired, Presbyterian, and feeling better than I have in the fourteen years since I stumbled over Sjogren’s Syndrome/fibromyalgia. With my weak ankles, you won’t see me literally hopping around. But I am willing to toss the stone and hop again if and when God calls.