REMNANTS

The snow is falling, again, fine, tiny crystals.  At first, I thought that a fog had rolled in, but then I noticed how the wind caught them up into eddys - swirling in the air.  How lovely, even more so because I had nothing urging me outdoors. No appointments to keep; no commitments to honor.

Trying to catch the beauty of the moment, I quickly snapped a few shots of the view from my back entry which overlooks the woods from the porch.  Instead, I notice that there sits a good friend, my rocking chair, waiting for me to return as if it were not the kind of cold that makes your fingers hurt and your nose stings.  A remnant of warmer days, the rocking chair mocked the snow and cold.

ORDINARY DEEDS

Do you think of yourself as ordinary?  Are you "just a run-of-the mill kinda person?" If so, then I applaud you and thank you for making an extraordinary difference.

Yesterday, I ventured outside to get a massage.  I know, pretty cool, huh?  Would you believe me if I told you it was necessary?  It was, honest.  It was therapeutic.  Here's my excuse:  myotonic dystrophy hates the cold.  Once my muscles contract, they do not relax; they tense up into tight, little knots.  Heat helps, sometimes.  This time, the heat was not doing the trick.  I had been in such pain for the last week that I was forced to go get a massage.

Anyway, once I arrived at the spa, I encountered ordinary people doing ordinary jobs.  Here are the applause-producing events:  one woman helped me get set up in the locker room (even putting my belongings in the locker for me), my masseuse gave me a little extra time because my muscles were in such knots, another woman helped me into the steam room for a little extra heat therapy, and a fourth woman found a stool and made the shower handicap-friendly.  All initiated these actions with smiles, kindness, and on their own.  Because of these ordinary people, I was "accommodated" without feeling as if I were being accommodated.  An ordinary massage became an extraordinary day.

Ordinary people doing ordinary things make an extraordinary difference.

ÉTOUFFÉE

Étouffée: the French word for “to smother.”  Recently, I learned the underlying meaning for the cooking process to make the Cajun stew, It is interesting to me to consider how words can elicit different visceral responses.  Somehow, to smother me using the French word sounds pleasant and soft (and maybe even tasty), but to smother me using the English word is distasteful and anxiety producing.

Several year ago, I was diagnosed with myotonic dystrophy.  At first, I needed to use a cane to get around.  It was easy.  I could go anywhere and do anything.  The options were endless: taking walks or a workshop were easy; restaurant choices were based on interest; spending time with friends was just a matter of scheduling.  Freedom and independence were my two mantras.  Bit by bit, life changed.  Now, if I want to go anywhere, I need help.  Stores and restaurant choices are limited to those that can accommodate a wheelchair.  I can no longer take workshops at the Palette and Chisel in Chicago because their entrance has stairs and their classes are held on the third floor.  Gradually, I am being confined to a life of “cannots.”  I am being smothered.

What do I do now?  Find a way to turn smother into étouffée; make my life tasty.  I am convinced that our choice of what “thinking paths” we employ will determine our emotional health.  It is a struggle to free myself from depression and sadness.  I fight not to be angry.  My time is limited.  I refuse to give in to living at the bottom.

Everyone of us has a choice every day of what we think, how we think, and what we think about.  I implore you; think on whatsoever things are true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, and of good report.  (Philippians 4:8)

Keep fighting the darkness. You are not alone. 

The Whale's Belly

Sitting in the dark, listening to small sounds:  the house contracting from the cold; the wind rattling the windows; the furnace clicking on, I feel the stillness - alone - unafraid.  Hopeful. 

In the middle of the woods stands a tree - hunkered down - asleep for the season. Yet, its leaves cling to the branches. A memory of past glory and a promise of the future.   It, too, sits in the stillness - alone - unafraid.  Hopeful. 

There will always be seasons where we sit in the whale's belly - not in control of our destination.  Alone. I pray that you will be unafraid. Have hope in tomorrow.  

My Crazy Love Nugget

Living with a debilitating disease is an overwhelming, a time-consuming, and an attitude-challenging existence.  You have heard of active listening.  Well, I need to actively think about what choices I am making about each day’s activities; otherwise, the day slips away.  

So much of my energy is spent on what you might term the “little” things, i.e., getting dressed, brushing my hair, brushing my teeth, moving from bedroom to bathroom to living room.  Most mornings, I am weary by the time I am ready to eat breakfast.  So, it becomes easy to just sit and maybe read a book or power up the iMac.

If I were to allow myself to slip into a life of doing nothing, what could be said at the end of my life?  This is the question I have begun to ask myself all the time.  Knowing that I am living on the edge of time propels me into action.  It is this knowledge that gives me energy when I have none.  Facing each day with determination to live, pushing forward to leave a legacy of love.  

I have this crazy notion that if I spend time trying to impart to people how much they mean to me, they will carry this love nugget with them after I am no longer here.  For a long time, I was more concerned about doing the “morally just” thing and being a good person.  Oh, I was a complete failure.  My strong independent spirit would rear up and demand respect.  I lived in a confused state of what to do next.  Finally, I started to understand that my true desire was to let others know how much they meant to me.  I started to see that I did not need to take care of myself.  Nothing horrible would happen if I just relaxed.

My independent spirit stills serve a purpose: it gives me the ability to fight to live every day; to power through the dark moments; and to see all the good right in front of me.  My determination to love is rewarding.  The more that I love each person for who they are, the more that I can see the depth of their beauty.

It is an awesome experience.