A cardinal sings every day. His song follows me around where ever I am, inside or outside. Red birds are a strong symbol of God’s presence for me. This one is special since we seldom have cardinals come to our bird feeders. A cardinal coming and staying is a miracle! I’m so grateful for this precious gift, this scarlet show of Love and Presence.
I’m in the midst of many transitions. Chemo is over; school is over. How will I now live? Tuesday, I celebrated not having to go to the cancer center. I’m utterly thrilled to be on this side of cancer treatment, while holding tenderly in my heart and prayers all those who struggle on with chemo.
The PET scan is behind me, as of noon today, and a CT scan follows on Monday. I smile wondering if being slightly radio active will ruin the laptop I’m using, and remembering my shock and disgust at having to do these scans again. I smile knowing how I felt so peaceful this morning, so loved by God that being surrounded by the circular scanner seemed like a Divine hug, the humming sound of the machine, a heavenly lullaby. I felt so relaxed I feared falling asleep and twitching or jerking and messing up the scan, so I stayed awake and still by doing Centering Prayer. I love this prayer, this blessed way of being in God’s presence! When I got home, I slipped my copy of the scan disc into my computer and marveled at all the lovely colors in my body. Hopefully, none of the colors represent cancer, but if they do, then I will share with God my full range of emotions and thoughts. And with God’s help, I will discover again the meaning of Julian of Norwich’s words: “all will be well, and all shall be well, all manner of things will be well.”
As my drug basket gets empty, life decisions pile up. I popped the last Protonix (for reflux), took the last Allopurinol (kidney support), and shelved the laxatives and sleeping pills. I wish I could discern what life direction to take just as easily and with as much excitement as I discard old pill bottles. I have enough sensations in my feet to make driving less risky. Driving makes me feel incredibly independent and free! Though my sprained ankle still keeps me off my feet at times, I am beginning to see my life stretching out before me again. For five months I concentrated on survival; now I concentrate on how to live.
My concepts of myself, of God, of life have changed during my year of ill health, especially during the last four months. I want to integrate what I’ve learned, but I haven’t lived much on this side of chemo to know how the changes will look or feel. Now that I’ve recovered, I realize my old patterns didn’t go away, including all the old pressures and demands I put on myself, the over ‘doing’ out of idealism, obligation or religious and cultural conditioning. I see them more clearly though, as I stand in the doorway to a more whole life, a life of greater freedom. Freedom comes with more risk, and the willingness to embrace a greater ‘unknowing’. I stand here with uncertainty coupled with a strong desire to trust.
New opportunities arrive on this doorstep where I am; there are so many opportunities and possibilities that my mind wants to stir up confusion and indecisiveness. With guidance from my spiritual director, with meditation, prayer and stillness, and gratitude for the timely, passionate song of the red bird, my awareness shifts from the logical and rational, to an inner calm, a place of trust, a knowing that life will unfold as I begin walking. I know I’ll always have everything I need. There is a deep well within me, within all who believe, and it flows with the living water of joy, love, confidence, vitality, creativity and peace. When I am thirsty, all I have to do is shift my awareness and drink deeply. As I walk, God walks with me on the journey.
Joyfully,
Sharon
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