Idle and Blessed

Idle and Blessed

The phrase “idle and blessed’ from Mary Oliver’s poem The Summer Day keeps popping into my mind, perhaps because I’m living to a different rhythm these days. I’m savoring each day’s gifts: the sprinkling of goose bumps when I sense a small miracle happening, the twirl of joy when Jay comes down the walk, the pungent odor of sparring goat bucks, the curl of my granddaughter’s eyelashes, the grainy texture of a wooden broom handle and the way dirt swirls ahead of each sweep. How delicious is the grounded feel of earth under my feet, the sweet smell of hay or lavender-scented bed sheets, breathing through an achy yoga pose, laughing with God as I lay on the grass imagining looking down into the sky instead of up!

While I usually move through life more mindful than rushed, recovery from chemotherapy brought extra challenges in stillness and gratefulness. Stillness is a calm resting in Divine Love, despite outer or inner turmoil, regardless of mobility of body. Gratitude insists I treat my body as friend rather than frustration, even while forced to be physically still. While I easily savor the earth and its creatures, I sometimes forget my body is also worthy of celebration and savoring. Recovery asks for deeper listening to my body, being gentle with myself as I wait, hear, and discover what my body needs.

I have learned to be gracious toward my slower, quieter, more reflective nature, yet I can pressure myself in times of physical weakness. In those times, I’m easily discouraged by Western culture’s love of achievement, success, and independence. Growing up in a large rural family, with gardens, orchards, animals, a large household and siblings to care for, hard work was expected and encouraged. Having a strong work ethic serves me well, but when vulnerable, I can revert to an old mode of unfavorable comparisons.

In the vulnerability of recovery, of nursing two sprained ankles, trying to make sense of erratic blood sugar levels, enduring periods of mental/physical exhaustion and depression, I sometimes found myself clutching a ‘measuring up stick’ again, eyeballing my health, spirituality, recovery, body image, emotions, and especially my fear of laziness against illusions of strength, spirituality, and wholeness. When vulnerable it’s easy to confuse physical needs for lack of motivation and character weakness. When I listen to my body, and dialogue with those who support me, I can see what is: during recovery my body needs more protein, more sleep, and more gentle acceptance of the lingering effects of illness and chemo on all of me: brain, body cells, psyche, emotions, soul.

I processed my illness and treatment phase well, I thought, so after chemotherapy was finished and everyone else went back to life as usual, I expected my own life to drift towards normalcy. Turns out, I had more thinking, praying, listening, and healing left to do.

Recovery is a process. Recovery, like everything else in life, can be a mirror of my subconscious inner thoughts and beliefs. During recovery, beautiful discoveries emerge of self, love, God, cosmos and community. Unsettling things come too, such as anger, depression, impatience and disappointment; it’s so tempting to express the pleasant and repress or judge the rest as negative, especially when western culture, even Christianity, loves the victorious, the positive, the strong. All emotions and thoughts need acknowledgement in recovery. Blessed are the dear souls who companioned me in my darker moments without needing to fix, chastise or spiritualize my condition. Their loving presence helped me open to what life was presenting, so I could hear my body’s needs, choose ways to live well, and find the power to let go of comparisons and expectations.

I am blessed when I take time to be idle, in times of energy and vitality as well as illness and recovery. I give and receive love and wisdom when I slow down and listen to the Sacred within and around me. In stillness, I exist beautifully with the rhythm of the earth, skies, and creatures, the Divine stirrings within myself, my family, my community. Idle hands are not always the devil’s workshop and disciplined idle minds are a welcome break from the constant rush and pressure of society. Blessed is the mind that pauses from thought and finds quiet Stillness within. Blessed is the body that participates in a slow sunset, climbs rocks and surfs waves, hears wisdom from within, feels the beat of cicada song. Blessed is the soul that rests in God’s Heart.

Joyfully,
Sharon

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver: http://www.panhala.net/Archive/The_Summer_Day.html

A fresh summer day. Time renewed. In the silence of the morning, time is not relevant. My soul blooms along with lemon lilies, and deep red Mandeville flowers. God dawns with the sun, floats above earth in white cloudy puffs, experiences life through me, through you, through upright lupines, nodding petunias and glowing fireflies. Creation explodes anew every day. I abide in Joy and Joy abides in me.

In case anyone is still reading this blog, I’m doing well. Walking on both feet again. Physical therapy and supplements from the nutritionist are really helping my ankles. The neuropathy is mostly gone. How lovely it is to feel the ground beneath my feet instead of odd stinging or numb sensations. I’m mostly holing up, taking life easy, doing what I have to do to keep the house and gardens intact. Not really feeling chatty or productive and that is good. I have a lot of inner stuff going on; healing, sorting, discerning, longing, asking life and the Spirit to lead me. I’m not feeling drawn to writing, or even much journaling.

I met with my spiritual director today. Our times together are such a blessing, so holy and so real, so ordinary. I wonder how anyone lives out faith and life without such a companion on the journey.

I stopped going to the “Healing Together” group at Lancaster Cancer Center. Although I really like the group, and the leader, attending makes me identify with cancer. I realize my need for support wasn't as much about cancer as it was about the need to mourn the loss of my close spiritual community when I finished five years of study at Kairos School of Spiritual Formation. I will always wonder how the folks in the support group are doing though; it’s amazing how quickly I bonded to these dear, courageous people. And, it was such a blessing to be reassured that post-chemo fatigue is normal, weak ankles from neuropathy too....but overall, I don't want to focus on cancer. Part of me would love continuing to attend because this group is similar to what I seek in a spiritual community- willingness to be open, vulnerable and real. Yet, I feel more called to find or start an intentional spiritually group that doesn't spring from one illness or issue. Perhaps my 'calling' and my longing will eventually blend into some group or community that gives me this kind of depth and life. I am willing anyway, should God and life lead.


God of my heart, you whisper my name as the breeze whispers among the willows. I throw open my arms and embrace the skies, the earth, the sea. Sweet Spirit, together we weep in glee as waves wet sandy cheeks; we leap in abandon with deer bounding through lush cornfields, we sleep with stars in our eyes. Beloved Immanuel, you experience life with me; I see your eyes when I look into my innocent grand daughter’s face or when I see a woman struggling with repression, a homeless child’s hunger, a spider proudly sitting in the midst of an intricately designed web, a man driven by work, or a dog gazing devotedly into the face of a beloved master. Dear One, are those your eyes peering out through theirs, or mine? Are our eyes all one? God, of my heart, you sing to me through robin song, touch me with human fingers , you color me in luscious shades of earth green, astound me with stars and galaxies, wrap me in healing blue skies and twining morning glory vines, laugh in flashes of cardinal red and comfort me in darkness with the glow of citronella candle and fireflies. May I always long for You, for love, for earth, sea, and sky, for community and wholeness.

Joyfully,
Sharon

No Good Leg to Stand On

Yesterday, I stepped off the porch and my good ankle gave out. Who expects to be striding confidently one moment and collapsing in a heap in the next? I went down gasping and bewildered, neither my fall nor my thoughts were graceful. Limping, I headed inside for the recliner, grabbing an ice bag and arnica cream along the way.

What kind of klutzy fool sprains an ankle walking off a porch? How could I sprain two ankles in 10weeks? I don’t have a good leg to stand on! It’s humiliating. Poor Jay; I don’t want him waiting on me again. I feel so stupid and can’t blame that on cancer. Am I getting so out of shape that I can’t even walk? I should stop being a wimp and push myself more. No, I’ve got to slow down; stop acting as though things are normal again. Stop expecting so much!

My contorted thoughts raged for a few moments. How quickly I can go from positive thinking and acceptance to blaming, berating, pushing myself! Alone with my ice bag and swelling ankle, I moved from humiliation and disgust to wallowing in self pity. Guess it doesn’t take much these days. On the other hand, numb feet, two sprained ankles, fatigue, intermittent melancholy, headaches, and joint pain when I thought I’d bounce back quickly feels like a lot.

After 48 hours of ice, ace bandages and ibuprofen, I can walk upright today, cautiously, but without cane or crutches. I spent time researching neuropathy, other lingering after effects of chemo, and reading message boards of other recent survivors. What a relief to know neuropathy (nerve damage from chemo) causes weak muscles (esp. ankles!) as well as numb, burning feet. Nerves in the legs take longer to heal too. I discovered some of my other odd symptoms are common in this stage of recovery: aching joints, headaches, melancholy, brain and body fatigue. I’m glad I’m not alone in this, but unsettled knowing I have more recovering to do. Chemo is the gift that keeps on giving.

I reluctantly go to the ‘Healing Together’ group at the Lancaster Cancer Center. I want to believe I can bounce back easily because of faith, nutrition, and attitude. Yet, I need to hear the stories of others so I know how to be gracious with my recovery. A survivor stated, “When a "crisis" appears over, there is an expectation to be "over" the whole thing.” I agree, knowing my own expectations exceed what I sense coming from others.

Another survivor speaks: “I would be a liar if I didn't say that surviving cancer is a daily rollercoaster of emotions, physical and mental challenges and a soul searching journey that often leaves me exhausted. I am looking for answers about my joint pain, my fatigue, my memory inconsistencies, my feelings of melancholy, my hormonal imbalance, my weight fluctuation and a host of other seemingly normal and related but annoying symptoms of post cancer treatment. There are certain things I intrinsically feel/know would help some of these symptoms such as exercise, caffeine withdrawal, nonconsumption of any alcohol, a better green-leafy diet, vitamin intake, yoga, therapy, a good cry now and then, more stress free moments in a day, meditation and more joyful experiences, but I have found it difficult to either manifest or maintain these seemingly simple acts of well being for any real length of time. It is a journey. I guess I am reaching out in this little baby-steps-cyber way in hopes of finding some answers or validation that I am indeed "normal" or at the very least finding some listening ears who know first hand what I am experiencing.”

Like this person, I’m still processing the events of the last 12 months. I’m baffled with this ongoing processing, as I felt very present through each moment of treatment. But, reflection is always good, and the deeper truth is the journey. Don’t we all struggle with what we intuitively know, what we need help to know, and what we don’t want to face. I keep asking for the grace to live fully each day, to reflect on what comes up, to let go of what I can’t change. I want to flow like the water in a brook, moving around rocks and sticks, not fighting or resisting too much, but accepting, letting go, bending through life’s circumstances. I wish for moving effortlessly over smooth, polished stone, but want to be prepared for sharp obstacles and churning rapids too. So I come back to practicing kindness to myself and others, trusting, mindfulness, gratitude, prayer and meditation.

Joyfully,
Sharon

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. --Reinhold Niebuhr

I have lost my smile,
But don’t worry,
The dandelion has it.

If you have lost your smile, but are still capable of seeing that a dandelion is keeping it for you, the situation isn’t too bad. You still have enough mindfulness to see that the smile is there. --Thich Nhat Hanh

Bird Song and Sunrise

I’m well on the road to recovery, feeling good, growing hair, loving life. I love sitting outside in the early morning, feeling grateful the winter is over and so is the time of sitting inside looking out, recovering from chemo. The spring seemed so far away back then! In honor of spring and hope, I wrote this earlier today:

“This morning is soft and silky, with the sun muted behind kitten gray clouds. My red-feathered friend primps on the wire above me; his whit-whit-whit call competes with the chatter of sparrows, the whir of dove wings, and the cheery song of father finch perched on the edge of his nest before stuffing ‘bird milk’ down the outstretched throats of his babies. Spring is deliciously heavy, so full and ripe it must soon give way to summer. Voluptuous lettuce in my garden, misted with the glow of sunrise and dew, bursts its boundaries, pushing against spinach, marigolds, beets, while the yearling redbud tree across the yard stretches youthful branches up to the gentle morning light. Deep green heart leaves shimmer beside the aged dogwood nearby, both trees moving in rhythm with the gentle morning breeze. “

Last Friday I attended my first Relay for Life. It was quite an experience. Lancaster, PA holds the third largest relay for the fight against cancer in the country. It is shocking –the cancer statistics - how many walked the survivor's lap and how many luminaries lined the track honoring or in memory of cancer patients. With a still swollen ankle, I limped through the whole survivor's lap. On the track I saw my oncologist; I think he was wearing a survivor's gold medal. I had no idea. The night was filled with mixed emotions.

The luminary service was touching, hope-filled and beautiful. The word HOPE was illuminated on the bleachers as bagpipers played Amazing Grace. During the songs and ceremony, I remembered everyone I could think of in my life, who fought cancer, including my dad, my sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends. I thought of Alice, the rescuer of my dog, Hutch. Alice died from cancer when Hutch was a year old; Hutch died a few months ago. Of course all this remembering brought out the tears and tissues.

I'm resting now, with foot propped up and on ice as I write this blog. Minding my ankle is hard, being free of chemo and so wanting to get on with life. Then I think of Jim, walking the survivor’s lap, enrolled in his last chance clinical trial for advanced lung cancer, and feel chagrined over my impatience with my ankle.

So friends, I challenge you to go out and enjoy life today; whatever the difficulty, walk the survivor’s lap, in spirit if not on foot. And by all means, listen for the red bird!

Joyfully, Sharon

A wise story: The disciples were full of questions about God. Said the master, “God is the Unknown and the Unknowable. Every statement about God, every answer to your questions, is a distortion of the truth.”

The disciples were bewildered. “Then why do you speak about God at all?”
“Why does the bird sing?” said the master.

THE BIRD SINGS NOT BECAUSE IT HAS A STATEMENT BUT BECAUSE IT HAS A SONG - from Song of the Bird by Anthony De Mello

Simple Pleasures; Gratitudes

5-25-09


Last Sunday, family and friends surprised me with a party celebrating my cancer remission status and my graduation from Kairos School of Spiritual Formation in May, despite going through chemo. I am humbled and overwhelmed by the love and support of so many dear people in my life. I am so blessed by all the cards, gifts, weeping cherry tree and red twig dogwood I received. I had wanted a red twig dogwood to plant in memory of Hutch, so this surprise gift is especially touching. The shrub will be a reminder of Hutch’s fiery devotion to me, and the rich love of my family. I'm quite aware this particular pleasure is not in the 'simple' category, so my deepest gratitude goes to all who planned.

I plucked some stray hairs from my face today. While chin and raggedy eyebrow hair smacks of aging rather than glowing health, I can't help grinning over these fine hair specimens.


Speaking of hair, my head is not covered red, curly fuzz. All along I’ve told God I deserve strawberry blonde curls after surviving a chemical nicknamed the ‘red devil’. It is nice to be comforted by God’s laughter. I’ve given up on red, but I’m still holding out for curls.

Carey, my 10yr old cattle dog, plays with a long-legged stuffed monkey, a toy she hasn’t had since puppyhood. The same puppyish enthusiasm fills her as she lays cat-like, belly up, dangling the monkey between her paws and high over her head. She grins, tongue lolling, teeth snapping at the skinny legs dangling above her face.


My perennial garden looks fantastic from a distance. It shows off a riot of emerald, jade and golden green, with sprays of periwinkle phlox, spikes of regal purple lupine, dots of daisy yellow, delicate splashes of sea foam pink and bold geranium red. Unfortunately, up close reveals lots of weeds. When I get down on my knees, grateful for earth and sky and sun, even the weeds are lovely. Last summer’s Queen Anne’s lace, and the fatigue that prevented me from nipping the flowering seed heads, brings a spring carpet of lacy, fern-like aromatic seedlings. As I weed, I celebrate the plants’ fecundity, their subtle carroty fragrance, and the memories of beautiful white lacy flowers bundled in blue glass jars and old tin buckets decorating my son’s wedding two autumns ago.


Last Wednesday, my oncologist, Dr DeGreen, entered the exam room – baaing. Laughing, I told him he sounded like a sheep, not a goat. After discussing scan results (they are still clear enough to be called ‘in remission’) he told me my immune system may take two years to recover from lymphoma and chemo. I listened, knowing he was saying ‘please no’ to my ongoing question of drinking raw goat milk again. Then he grinned, pretended to stifle a shudder, and added, “but if you really want to, you have my permission’. Regardless of what I do about milk, I was touched. I’m grateful he respects my choices, and my understanding of health and healing.

Joyfully,
Sharon

Transitions

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

Endings and Beginnings

I graduated from Kairos School of Spiritual Formation last weekend!! Since the weekend came during my time of lowered white cell counts, and with flu going around, I decided to forgo all the congratulatory hugging and kissing after class. Instead, I presented my friends with pens and they decorated my head. Enjoy the photos!



Instant bangs!

Yes, I’m in the midst of endings: end to five years as a student at Kairos, end of chemotherapy for lymphoma. I feel lost, though the feeling is more celebratory than confused or sad, as I wander around in the strange space between closure and new adventures.

While my body requires rest and continued healing, my mind is active with ideas, questions and decisions for the future. Two big goals reached feels exciting, wonderful and a tad unsettling.

me with certificate!

I’m doing well this week and my sprained ankle is improving. Last week I experienced very odd sensations in my feet, slightly painful, and somewhat like when your foot ‘falls asleep’ from poor circulation and the blood rushes back into the area. I cut back on the vitamin B 6 supplements, which I read could help in healing the nervous system, and this week the odd sensations have stopped. The numbness in my fingers is lessening, and while the soles of my feet are still numb, there is less burning and tingling in my feet. All authorities say it takes six months to a year for this to happen, yet, I am experiencing it now. The affirmations continue to assist my body in regaining balanced health. Thanks be to God the healing abilities of the mind and body!

This is my 'good week'. How wonderful to know my good week will simply move into another good week and another, God willing, until they all blend into the rest of my life. What will I focus on now, how fast will I bounce back from chemo, what life lessons will I take with me? Will I continue my education, focus on writing, building my spiritual direction practise, or find a healthy balance of all? As Macrina Wiederkehr so eloquently says: "I stand before what is, and dwell in possibilities!"

Joyfully,

Sharon

...and it ends with a braid.