This morning I wake up tired and grouchy. Still in my pjs, I stumble past the kitchen island, seeing my placemat full of meds and supplements arranged in order of swallowing: morning, afternoon, evening, between meals, on an empty stomach. The sight irritates me. Not even the east window brings cheer. I see no beauty outside, snow, or colors of sunrise, just dreary fog. I grumble to God. "Don't I deserve a sun rise? I'm going through enough, don't you think?"
Play your recording.
I don't want to play my recording, but God's tender understanding moves me to find the mini recorder. I sink into the rocking chair, pulling on headphones. I listen with closed eyes.
On the eve of the third chemo treatment, I recorded prayers, poetry, songs, words of encouragement and verses from cards people have sent me, my favorite Psalms, visualizations of playing with Avery, hiking –healthy and strong, Emmanuel wrapping me in a circle of Love with Creator, and Sacred Spirit. And, sandwiched between those entries, I spoke visualizations of healing from cancer. I imagined white cells dividing, red blood cells multiplying, guinea piggish cancer cells melting, running away, rainbow colors protecting my body organs from chemo damage, stars and moon beams lining my digestive system and throat with healing and protection. I recorded any crazy, comforting thing that came to mind.
In stillness, wrapped in the prayers of family and friends, warmed by shawls, receiving God’s love, I listen and open my heart. My recorded voice sounds strong, encouraging, full of love. I am moved to tears at the strangeness of Spirit using my own voice to touch me.
I sluggishly move on into the day, open a lovely email from a friend, struggle through yoga, and rejoice when the sun comes out. The blue sky nourishes me. Jay makes bacon for breakfast. Rosey drops off organic vegetables she picked up for me. I go with her to visit my mom who lives in an Alzheimer’s unit. I haven’t seen mom for two months. I feel a small shiver of anxiety. I’m gentle with myself, suddenly knowing the clouds of the morning might be as much internal as outside fog. Will mom know me? Will she be startled by my hat, my flushed red chemo cheeks? Mom sleeps through my visit. I’m sad and relieved. Life is so peculiar, so precious.
Nothing helps me more than listing God connections, gratitudes, hints of red:
Another mystery! Royer’s delivered a handful of gorgeous sunflowers. Ah, sunshine and summer in a vase! The card wasn’t signed.
Four different laxatives worked; glory be!
I had ten well days last cycle- three more than before. God is carrying me.
Mary Jane gave me a wonderful CD.
Ginger crocheted beautiful hats for me.
The sky is blue.
My cactus is budding inside; snow drops are blooming outside!
Jeanette sent me a box of clothes.
I found an outfit to wear with Mim’s aqua scarf.
Becky sent me hand-made red heart earrings. Beautiful!
Dot taught me how to make better veggie juice.
Four laxatives worked!!
Carol gave me a lovely children’s book.
Elizabeth rearranged my knickknacks to make room for the AeroGarden. I find angels and candles in different places and I’m filled with joy!
Sylvia sent me a box with notes and an unfolding nest of scarves. Unwrapping was like a treasure hunt.
From sunrise to sunset the sky speaks love to me.
I’m alive!
Laverne called me yesterday.
Magnificent clouds remind me of all creation; wind and chimes remind me of Spirit blowing through the universe.
Hiking slowly at Middle Creek, seeing Snow geese and Tundra swans, sharing binoculars with Jay…can there be anything more fun?
Jay’s mother’s delicious meal, enough to have my dad join us for dinner.
Avery’s little voice singing the ABC song, saying “I love you Nana” on my answering machine, greeting me when I came home from chemo treatment.
Oh, and how could I forget to mention…four laxatives worked!!!
As I list, my heart sings; I am grateful for so much! This week I am drawn to the song: My Life Flows On, sung by Enya. I plan to play it over and over.
Joyfully,
Sharon
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