Living Fully into Hope

I left for the weekend, my garden bursting with summer's cardinal flowers, impatiens, and geraniums. Autumn colors of gold and rust mixed with delicate red and pink Mandeville buds. I returned home to find a slaughtering frost had transformed masses of colorful flowering plants into wilted piles of dull green.

Today, I decide to say goodbye to summer's fecundity by ceremoniously unwinding the Mandeville vines instead of cutting and pulling them off the trellis. As I work, I notice each wilted bud, thankful for their beauty, their hope in the future.

Leaves and vines curl everywhere, some still alive and viable, reaching far from their trellis home into the potted willow tree nearby filling autumn-bare corkscrew branches with leaf cover. As I uncurl each green finger, I smile at the barren willow's leafy disguise. I wonder how often I attempt to cover my unfruitfulness by standing near someone in full bloom.

I tried saying hello to winter's dark days, to slowing down and holing up, but with sunshine on my back and warm weather predictions, I'm just not ready. This goodbye gesture is enough; it reveals my desire for deeper authenticity, for asking what wants to bloom in me. Like the Mandeville, perhaps many of my buds will die before reaching fulfillment. I want to respond as gracefully as the vine, believing life is not about forcing blossoms, but living fully into hope and promise.

Joyfully,
Sharon

Autumn Joy

Autumn brings to mind cornfields, street fairs, sheep shows, leaf piles, apple crisp and golden sugar maples. And, it’s the name of my favorite autumn plant – Sedum Autumn Joy. I bought the plant on name alone, but soon fell in love with the flowers of this sedum especially the slow, gorgeous transformation from pink, to crimson, to deep rust as summer transitions into autumn. As I enjoy my garden sedum, I contemplate my own transitions.

Last year, at this time, I was baffled by odd health symptoms. This season, after lymphoma diagnosis and four months of immuno-chemotherapy, I’m well into recovery. The last appointment with the oncologist went well despite being nervous about meeting a new doctor. I changed oncologists in honor of a gift to myself on my 50th birthday. I decided since I’ve had male doctors for my first 50years, I’d like to have female doctors for the next fifty. I’m delighted to have good rapport with the new doctor, to hear my recent PET/CT scan shows continued decreasing activity in all ‘watched areas’ and to have scheduled an appointment for removal of my port since maintenance doses of Rituxan and chemo are not necessary. What lovely validations of health and healing! My white cell counts are slowly improving, but still low, so I won’t discard my copious supply of hand sanitizer.

A few weeks ago, during a bout of melancholy and needing some autumn joy, I took a walk, then sat on my favorite bench on a hill overlooking a creek, a pond, and a retirement village nestled among trees ablaze in red, orange and gold.

The sun feels so good after days of rain. I feel blue, yet alive and alert. My mind skips around from thought to thought then relaxes deeply into spacious appreciation of earth’s sights, sounds, and smells. Moments later, as thoughts return, I’m momentarily confused –is this spring or autumn? I see signs of spring: a swollen creek, curving like a ribbon over deep moss and cress colored fabric, water spilling over banks as if fed by spring rains, green grass carpeting the ground before and around me. I look up, reassured by golds and reds; yes, it’s autumn, even if fields of yellow ripened corn are bordered by emerald strips of vigorously growing alfalfa, even if rows of brilliant red burning bushes arise from lush lawns.

Like two eyes that see double when relaxed and single one when focusing together, I almost saw two seasons blending into one! Similarly, my melancholy blurred with deeper joy, until my thoughts and feelings became one with the pulse of life, the green earth, brilliant red leaves, golden corn, flowing waters. I want to savor, while holding all lightly so I don’t become too focused on one thing.

I dread the port removal procedure, unpleasant emotions, difficult life situations, endings, and anticipate a grandchild’s smile, beginnings, and the bite of a crisp apple, but these simple ups and downs symbolize the ebb and flow of change.

Life has seasons to be noticed and enjoyed, and holding everything lightly may help ease the transitions. It’s a comfort knowing I’m not defined by my thoughts or emotions, by what happens in my life. My true self is deeper, wider, more connected to something bigger than myself. In joy or in disappointment, I can focus own my own state, or I can open to the pulse of humanity, of earth and sea and sky, Spirit too. One focus without the other tends to keep me stuck in clinging, or wishing for some other emotion, situation, state or season. Like when I’m lying awake, but numbed, on the surgeon’s table for the port removal, I pray to see a bigger picture than my dread! I like Elizabeth’s advice: visualize the port covered in slippery butter so it pops right out!

I raise my buttered bread this morning to ‘toast’ autumn, loving support, and finding bits of joy in dreadful moments….

Joyfully,
Sharon