By Anne Williston
~ words meant for reality ~

“Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be… a prudent insurance policy.”

— Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)

 

Living with uncertainty has been incredibly difficult.  Indecision can be heartbreaking.  I’ve always struggled when waiting was part of life’s equation.  I want to act – so I jump in with both feet before scoping out the water.  Consequently, sometimes I land on the rocks and injure myself.  If by jumping in I involve someone else (family, friends, etc), they suffer bumps, bruises and broken bones along with me. 

 

The past year has helped me to review my life, figure out what really matters so that in the future I might avoid hidden dangers.  I have learned to wade in first and check out the environment before taking the final plunge of commitment. Pain is a reminder I’m human – an opportunity to check my actions and correct my path. It is time to move forward.  I will only find what I want when I take a risk, trusting God will pick me up when I fall, heal me when I fail, and comfort me through it all.

 

 

Somehow, in spite of difficult life circumstances, I find myself in a place where I am having fun.  How?  Truthfully, I don’t know.  As I break the co-dependant habits of my life, I am finding freedom.  The race to complete my Master’s, finished Spring 2008, has ended.  I can breathe.  There are margins in my life.  I’m no longer revving frantically every moment of every day.  My motto, “Do it Now,” can be discarded.  I adopted it because I had so many responsibilities I had to do them weeks and months before actual deadlines in order to make room for upcoming requirements at work, in school, and at home. 

 

So, what’s my new motto?  I bought a new set of mugs this winter.  Each has a trio of words inscribed on them.  My favorite is “Live well, Laugh often, Love much.”  While out shopping with my teenage daughter a few weeks ago, I found a bracelet that has the condensed version: “Live, Laugh, Love.”  I wear it daily, a reminder that life is short and while it is sometimes important to “Do it Now” it is equally important to make sure my days are filled with people and events that encourage me to be myself. 

 

I want to live well: appreciate every moment of life as a gift to spend wisely.  I want to laugh often: life doesn’t have to be so serious.  Look for the humorous moment that can lighten my day and keep me from being tense and nervous as well as relaxing those around me.  Finally, I want to love much: give generously to those for whom I care most deeply; be compassionate towards those who cross my path even momentarily.

“Christian faith is spoken into our bodies.” ~ Marc Ostlie-Olson. Luther Seminary God Pause. 9-4-2009

I have been made so aware of my body this summer (pain has a way of doing that).  My physical self is so weak!  But God speaks faith into my bones, into my flesh, into the center of my being.  The phrase, “gut feelings” is based in the reality that intuition manifests in physical clues to what is true.  Our guts are closely tied to the emotions.  Butterflies in the stomach, stomach tied in knots.  Worry can lead to many stomach problems.  Stress can exacerbate and even create pain in our physical center.  I spent six days in the hospital in mid-July with Pancreatitis.  Being so ill has forced me to take time out to evaluate what matters most in my life. While visiting my parents in Illinois, far from home, I found myself in so much pain that I asked my Mom to take me to the hospital.  The adult returns to the position of the child. 

 

We cannot live without a pancreas.  It orchestrates the absorption of nourishment into our bodies. The pancreas sits a little to the left in the center of the body, just under the breasts, beneath the stomach.  The pain literally doubled me over, made it impossible to walk upright.  The treatment is to stop all food and drink by mouth, deliver liquids to the body by IV, allowing the pancreas to rest.  Without the ability to rest, the pancreas could be damaged and possibly quit functioning or cause other organs to be damaged.  It is a powerful organ – controlling the life of the body as much as the heart, perhaps even more.  The pancreas has a dual function – it secretes enzymes into the digestive system and hormones into the blood. 

 

In my helplessness, over the course of my stay in the hospital, I realized there are many, many circumstances that I have tolerated, some for numerous years, that I can no longer allow to exist.  I must infuse the power of the pancreas into my life.  Rather than continue as a victim, without control to change my circumstances. I must take control of the habits, and the lies I have told myself that twisted my guts into knots, and made bile rise in my throat as I choked down and suppressed my emotional pain. I am not a victim and I have the power to change.  I can find a way to take six days of emotional rest, as I was forced to take six days of physical rest.  I’ve taken the first steps to reduce stress, to simplify my life and introduce some control back where there was no control.  I am claiming the power of the pancreas as my own.

 

 

“Do you mind waiting out here?” My husband glances towards the room where his friend is hooked up to half a dozen machines, brain dead according to his wife.  She had her daughter call to ask his friends to come and say good-bye.

 

I wait in the hall of this bright intensive care unit, large oval command center surrounded by rooms with glass doors.  Some closed off with curtains but most exposing the occupant to any passing stranger.  I try not to peer into those spaces, keep my eyes averted from bleak possibilities that I’m not ready to consider.

 

My birthday is this week – 50, half a century, old to the young and young to the old.  Harold is 67.  He was born only five years before my husband. Sixties contemporaries.  My husband returns.  “Let’s get out of here.”

 

Apparently none of the family is in the hospital.  Mike says he is ready to go.  Visibly shaken, we quickly head downstairs and out to our car.  As we begin to pull from the parking lot, a white car pulls in.  It’s Pam, Harold’s wife, and his daughter. My husband opens the window and lets them know we will come back.

 

After parking, we go back into the hospital.  We head upstairs, to Harold’s room.  Pam isn’t there.  We go back to the family waiting room, and there she is, looking tired and pale.  We give her quick hugs.

 

Mike asks, “How are you doing?”  “Okay, I guess.”  I listen to them exchange surface pleasantries, a mask for the pain of the occasion.  I drift.  Suddenly, Pam’s words catch my attention.

 

“You didn’t know the real Harold.  After his first heart attack, he wasn’t the same.  He wouldn’t do what the Doctor told him.  They wanted him to rest and recover for surgery to unblock his arteries, but he wouldn’t.  Just the other day he was mowing the lawn. The goddamn machine they made him wear kept going off.  I’d hear it beeping and beeping.  He just kept on mowing. He sure was a stubborn man.”

 

A pause.  “He beat me, too.  Couple days ago, he was standing at the foot of my bed.  I’d just got back from the doctor – I was sick.  He started screaming at me.  He’d a hit me, like he used to, if my daughter hadn’t stopped him.  That’s the real Harold.”

 

Mike looked shaken.  He hadn’t expected Pam to express her pain in a matter-of-fact voice, devoid of almost all emotion.  I’d detected a shade of relief, and maybe remorse. What stood out was the phrase, “like he used to.”  She continued to tell us how Harold abused her.  Mike didn’t know what to do or how to respond.

 

“I thought all men were like that, cause of my father. That was Harold.  That was Harold.”  Pam wiped the tears from her eyes and was silent. 

 

When we turned the car around, to offer our understanding and support to the grieving wife of my husband’s friend, the shape of that grief was not yet revealed.  Soon after these unsought revelations, we left.  All the wires and tubes were removed a week later. No funeral was planned.  Harold didn’t want one, Pam had explained.  And anyway, there isn’t any money.  So, no celebration of a life would be made.

Mike was unnerved by knowledge he didn’t need and didn’t want about Harold.  His memories of a man who freely offered his help and smiled easily were torn in two by Pam’s revelations. Mike was forced to view a different face of his friend Harold, a face he’d always keep hidden away.  But, was that the “real” Harold? We all have faces we keep hidden away from the world.  Certainly, Pam had suffered in her marriage.  And there is no excuse for physical abuse. 

But, that wasn’t all Harold was - he was a good friend. The words of his wife didn’t change the friendship he’d always freely given to many people, including my husband.  His life cannot be reduced to one simple statement.  He was a complex individual - he was human. The smiles and the anger, the love and the insecurities, and much, much more: that was Harold.

 

          Our old Weber grill is half-buried in our backyard, our version of the fancy outdoor fireplaces that have become so popular.  It serves as a great fire pit, surrounded by abandoned furniture rescued from the roadside, refinished and refitted, put to new use in our backyard “living room.”  I treasure the moment, bathed in flickering light, wrapped in the shadows, while we sit and ponder.  I smile at our neighbors, sitting with us in this makeshift room, sharing a glass of Zinfandel and a moment of peace.  The early spring twilight is lightly chilled, like good wine, as we linger, unwilling to break the spell cast by the fire’s glow.

          The thin places, where eternity touches today, remind us to care.  I recall a ten-mile wilderness hike taken during a childhood vacation.  We walked besides a chattering brook, through quiet, birdsong filled woods.  We trekked past the woods into tall grasses, hot sunlight at first welcome, then wearing, as we neared our destination. Away from the sound of water, long before the advent of water bottles in stores, we fought off our thirst as we plodded on through the early summer heat.

          A sharp turn, through a thin barrier of woods, and we reached Hidden Lake.  A hard winter had created an amazing view, created due to extreme spring runoff from the glacier that feeds the lake.  A multitude of waterfalls roared over the mountains surrounding the water pooled at our feet.  Awed, I gazed in wonder at the majestic sight.  The enormity of the mountains, the tranquility of the lake brought home the nearness of eternity.  My family and I walked out on the logs damming the end of the lake closest to our path.  I stooped and cupped the water, taking a long drink of the cold, mountain water.  Refreshed, we lingered, unwilling to return to the path and leave this picture of eternity behind.

          Now, the experience a faded memory, I cherish the moments when eternity breaks through my consciousness and reminds me of what really counts. Staring at the coals, I memorize the messages hidden in their heart, as they burn down to embers, still glowing, still holding the heat of life within.  Eternity presses through their heart, reaches out and prods me to remember what matters.  People.  Keep investing in the lives of others. Love with a whole heart.  Live in peace. Keep learning and growing.  Build hope.