On what was a sad, confusing and worrisome Thursday, my mom came to visit and shower me with love and understanding in a way that only a mother can.
She brought me this beautiful children’s book.
I have been filled with dozens of ideas lately; some big and some small, but all daunting as I exist within the confines of my illness. With a heart as big as hers, all my mother wants to do is see me smile, lift me up and inspire me to stay strong.
This perfect book is about a boy who one day has an idea. This idea turns out to be a persistent little thing, demanding his attention so it may flourish with his love. The boy worries that others may think his idea is foolish or weird, but he keeps on, as his idea gives him joy and makes him feel more alive. As the boy and his idea become inseparable friends, it becomes so grand that it not only belongs to him, but belongs to the world, and makes it a better place.
As scared as I feel sometimes, I can’t forget my ideas. At this age I don’t worry about what others may think of them; but I do worry about finding the energy and resources to bring them to life. Such “adult” concerns aside, like the boy in this sweet and simple story, I have to let them in and bring me joy.
Thank you, Mom, for loving me, and for gifting me with such precious wisdom just when I needed it most.
Your very flesh shall be a great poem.
These seven or so weeks of 2015, unexpectedly, have been some of the most challenging of my life.
The monotony of doctors’ words. Too many days in bed. Friends, or people who I thought were friends, slipping away. All of it like kerosene on this fire.
I mend and break, then mend and break again.
And I mend.
As the rest of the country freezes, I look outside and see spring’s prelude; with temperatures unusually high, my daisies and tulips are emerging from their sleep ~ a reminder that while my mind, body and world will sometimes descend into a cold darkness, life truly is a faithful cycle of pause and renewal. Nature must regularly slow and endure the necessity of repose, and we do the same. With the gift of new chances and joy awaiting us on the other side.
In my few moments of light, when my mind and body are clearer, I create. I am painting. I am working on my novel again. I am doing calligraphy. My camera is no longer buried in my spare room. I look down at my hands and see paint and ink where perfect red polish used to be in my healthy days. And I love it, for how my priorities have changed and how free and new it makes me feel. And this is how I know, while few in number, the moments of light fiercely outweigh the dark ones.
And yes, while my heart has recently felt the wound of disappointment and lost friendship, I want to express my never-ending gratitude and love for my gorgeous mom and amazing husband, who continue to hold me up in miraculous ways. And to my amazing friend D, whose inspiration and belief in my talent and potential have never wavered in the face of my worst days. All three of you, and others I cherish as well, faithfully remind me of the love, bliss, peace and blessings that remain a constant. It isn’t always easy for me to see it.
“Thank you” feels so painfully inadequate.
Thank God for you.
Have a blessed weekend, everyone.