Alone

Today is "hump day" of a seven day sequester after another radioactive iodine treatment for recurrent thyroid cancer.  In anticipating this round of treatment,  the aloneness of the sequester was the thing I most dreaded and yet something transformative and unexpected is happening.

The timing of this quarantine (Holy Week) has sent my thoughts to Jesus' own experience of aloneness.  It has caused me to imagine how I would have handled those last days before going to the cross.  First I would probably have made a list..."dispose of my earthly possessions," "make sure the will is up-to-date," "tell the family where the important papers are."  Then I would have gotten busy trying to complete all those tasks that I had always meant to get around to but procrastinated doing thinking I had more time.  I would have filled every day with busyness trying to make sure I left behind some kind of legacy ensuring that it mattered that I once lived.  I would have used endless activity to distract from the terror of what was about to happen to me.

Jesus did just the opposite.  He went into the serene Garden of Gethsemane filled with gnarly olive trees.  He set aside any agenda to be busy. He chose to just "be".  And though He invited His friends to participate in the experience with Him, they could not.   He was alone.  He was alone in the dismay over the physical trauma He was facing;  He was alone in the dread of the separation from His Father;  He was alone in the the anticipation of the rejection of His friends and followers;  He was alone in the sadness He would cause His mother;  He was alone in being misunderstood that He seemingly could not substantiate His claims of being God's Son.  Yet despite it all, Jesus did not budge from spending His last hours absorbed in the relationship with His Father.  There was no list, frantic activity, "wrapping up the details."  There was no "setting the record straight," just intimate moments of transparent honesty between Father and Son.

In my lifetime, I have never before had a time when I literally could do nothing and go nowhere.  I am in our bedroom behind a make-shift "screen door" ( to keep the cat and dog out).  Kindly, friends have offered me videos and books and magazines.  I loaded a book on the Kindle and had a list of things I thought would be good to accomplish during this time of involuntary solitude.  But as the days have gone by I have found myself getting quieter and quieter and I am hearing God louder and louder.  I am experiencing sweet togetherness with God in the quiet aloneness of my room.

Touch

Wednesday afternoon of last week, Jim drove me to the beauty salon to get my hair cut before I had to settle in for my "sequester" after this most recent cancer treatment.  I felt so weak so we decided I shouldn't drive myself and I really wanted to stay on my favorite red couch but I thought that after a month with no haircut I would regret that decision so I went to the salon.

"I'm all set for you!  You can go right to the bowl in the middle."  So I did. After the plastic apron was snapped in place I began to anticipate my favorite part of the salon experience--the shampoo.  Jackie gives a wonderful, brisk shampoo and rinses with water that is just the right temperature.  If I'm lucky she'll do it twice!  I rarely chat during this time because I don't want to miss any of her wonderful touch.  If I was a cat, I would purr.

Now that I am isolated from Jim, our little gray cat, Teddy and our frail old dog, Ellie, I am even more aware of how much I depend on touch.  Each time Jim drops off food my room, I want to reach out and hug him.  I find myself saying, "Kiss me...," and then I remember, "Oh, he can't."  It's not normal!  Even Teddy knows this...the normally quiet cat has been crying out loud because we are separated and he cannot come sit with me.   The lack of touch changes my mood.  (When I was thinking about this treatment, the thing I dreaded most was the physical isolation.)  And on the other side, a hug, a fist bump or pat on the back also changes my mood.

Yesterday, as I was on my way to the hospital I used social media to quickly let people know what was happening.  Before I was even called into the treatment room, messages assuring me of love and prayer began to come in.  There has not been one hour in the last twenty-four hours that someone has not "reached out and touched me" through phone, media, cards and prayers.  Though traditional touch--hugs, kisses, pats on the arm or back--is not available right now, I am being touched. 

Thanks to all who have stopped your busy world and taken the time to step into my world and touch me.  I feel it!

The Cormorant

After three feet of snow and several inches of drenching rain, my mind is wandering to an August vacation at the beach.  I'm thinking about sunshine and our colorful beach umbrella with blue bubbles on it.  And, of course, I'm picturing our pink-hippo-in-a-polka-dot bikini beach blanket.  I'm imaging squealing children toddling across the sand with saggy diapers, sun hats, red plastic pails and blue shovels.  You get the picture!  I'm ready...

Lost in my vacation thoughts today, I remembered a scene I witnessed one afternoon a few years ago on the beach.  I looked up from my daily crossword puzzle to see a huddle of people down on the far end of the sand.  They were gathered in a circle with their heads down.  A young teenage boy was running up to the Snack Shack as people shouted, "Try to locate a park ranger."

Ever curious, I decided to walk down the beach and see what all the hub-bub was about.  When I got down to the site of the activity, I saw a man trying to catch a shiny black cormorant who had an injured wing.  The man had pure intentions toward the bird but the bird read the good Samaritan as a threat.  The bird was thrashing about and pecking at his benefactor.  The black mass of feathers did everything it could to get away from the man.  Inside my mind I kept saying, "Stop! Stop!  The man's just trying to help you, not harm you.  You are going to injure yourself worse if you don't stop."

"Oh Lord," I prayed, "have I had been the cormorant?" "Have I pecked and squawked and thrashed and distrusted trying to get away from you when you were working on my behalf to help and heal me?  I'm sure I have and I'm sorry." 

The man on the beach was finally able to catch the cormorant when the exhausted bird gave up it's struggle.  The man gently wrapped the bird in a beach towel and with single focus he ran the cormorant toward the beach entrance where he passed it off to the ranger who took it to the conservation center so it could rest and have it's injuries be treated.

God's Word says, "Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10) When I come to the end of myself--my arguments, my it's-not-fairs, my don't-touch-mes--then God can step in and heal, make me whole and allow me to rest.  It's all about trusting the love of the God who said,  ^"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)

Spring Shoots

A few days ago I climbed over a two foot pile of snow that was blocking the sidewalk of a building I was trying to enter.  As I made my way to the door of the brick building, something caught my eye--Spring shoots!  Several three inch spikes of pale yellow green growth were poking through the mud. These were the first signs of the changing season I had seen this year.   A Happy Dance would have been appropriate--Spring was coming!

Seeing those shoots snuggled up against the building made me think of the Spring plant's life cycle.  Months of preparation happen so that the plant can "show off" for a couple of weeks a year.

The plant's bulb is planted in the ground in the Fall.  It spends a long dark cold Winter resting and preparing for it's intended purpose--flowering.  There are no external signs of life but below the ground the bulb is putting down roots and providing nutrients to the tiny bud that lives inside it.   The bulb is not showy and it is patient.  It does it's work in secret.



As Spring approaches, the plant peaks out to have a look at the world.  Under the warmth of the sun, leaves begin to grow and flourish above ground and the bud that has been so carefully protected by the bulb is now taking it's place.   Soon the colorful flower emerges and takes center stage. 

After a couple of weeks, the blossom fades and new bulbs begin to form underground.  The leaves that are left standing feed the new bulbs and the whole cycle begins again.

Spring flowers know what humans don't know--what happens in secret is more important than what happens in public!  Isn't it amazing that in the life cycle of a bulb the actual public, showy, "productive," blooming is only about two or three weeks out of fifty-two weeks?  The other fifty weeks are all about preparation and nourishment.

I learned this lesson vividly a few years ago.  I was teaching children in our church.  Each week I would make sure I had the teaching aids and craft supplies and games readied for the children.  When Sunday morning rolled around I felt like it was "game day" and I could hardly wait to "get the show on the road." 

Then one New Year's Sunday, Jim (my pastor), challenged our congregation members to write a prayer to the Lord asking Him to help us make a personal change in an area that, up until now, had been a difficulty in our life.  (I decided to participate though I don't do too well with New Year's Resolutions.)  On my card, I wrote a prayer asking the Lord to help me have regular, meaningful devotions each day, something I had struggled with my whole life.  Jim collected the sealed cards with the promise of mailing them back to us in six months so we could see how God was answering our prayer.

On a day in June, an envelope addressed to me in my own handwriting (like the dentist's postcard reminders) arrived.  Puzzled, I opened it up to find the prayer I had written six months earlier.  I was elated to realize my prayer had been answered.  I had been having wonderful times of Bible reading, prayer and journaling each day.  I would often be anxious for Jim to come home at night so I could share what I had read and observed from the scriptures.   My relationships were being enriched by the things I learned during my Bible reading.

I also recognized that my Sunday teaching was completely transformed.  My roots were going deeper and I was being nourished and out of that richness, I was sharing God's Word--it was real and alive.  The showy games and crafts and story telling were great but my heart was different.  What was happening in secret was impacting my life in public!