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.

 

 

All that matters is that the old be recovered on a new plane and be, itself, a new reality. This, too, gets away from you. So let it get away.

A Thomas Merton Reader: 16

 

Living green is a term you hear frequently.  It is applied to many things.  Business uses it to advertise when they adopt new ways of working that are more environmentally friendly.  Those who lived through the Great Depression have lived that way all their lives – saving, reusing, and repurposing were ingrained by the years of living with barely enough to survive.  My parents were like this.  We had a good life growing up, but going out to buy things was not always an option.  Money was put aside for the future, towards that rainy day that was sure to come.  Depression – era children experienced first hand what a “rainy day” was like: the homeless drifting from town to town, men lining up hoping to get work for the day, families pulled apart.

 

As a whole, America forgot what it was like to live without.  Abundance and prosperity made us soft.  Spend now – spend tomorrow’s wage.  Rainy days were thought to be a thing of the past.  But now, if it isn’t raining, storm clouds are threatening the course of our lives today and for some time into the future.

 

Living without has been repackaged as “Living Green.”  As a marketing tool, it sounds fantastic.  But if it isn’t a way of life, it doesn’t work.  Truly living green would mean abandoning the use of credit as a way to get what we want now.  Truly living green would require sacrifice and saving in hopes of a better future.  Not “business as usual.”

 

America’s economy is a mess – it is based on the use of credit so that people can buy more and buy more often.  Already, some people are spending more freely.  But, the financial core of this country is rotten.  The house is falling apart.

 

New reality?  We aren’t there yet.  This, too, has gotten away from us.  Until we change and let life based on spending and credit get away completely, our lives will not improve.  The house has a new coat of paint, but the termites are still destroying the foundation.

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.

You are indeed my rock and my fortress;
for your name’s sake lead me and guide me,
take me out of the net that is hidden for me,
for you are my refuge.
Into your hand I commit my spirit;
you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.

- Psalm 31:3-5

I walk upstream, pausing to take a picture.  A broken stump next to the river catches my eye.  I walk over carefully, observing the small greenery growing from its center. Crouching to take a photograph, I reflect on the new life springing from the dead wood.  Will it remain?  Can it find nourishment from the rotten, crumbling roots of what was once a strong tree?

 

I stand too quickly, turn, and fall into the hole where the roots of another tree once were.  I take a quick breath, as the stitches from my recent surgery pull, a reminder I haven’t fully healed.  I brush off my jeans, and walk farther along the river.  Finally, I turn around and head back.  I realize noone waits for me at home.  The kids are out with friends.  I slow my pace and decide to find a place to rest for a few moments.  I spy a rock next to the river.

 

I sit carefully, unwilling to overbalance into the water. I try to quiet my heart, which is lonely and filled with the anguish of separation.  My emotions stream along the surface of my soul, as the stream slides by, swiftly and smoothly, without ever stopping.  How can I go through each day, without letting those emotions overpower me?  It seems impossible to me.

 

Like the hole into which I accidentally stepped, there are emotional holes all around me as I walk through the day.  Some I can avoid, but others I have to try to walk around without falling in, and that is very, very hard. Some are hidden, and I stumble into them without warning.

 

Catching my breath, I force my head up and the tears to subside.  Else, I’d never stop crying.  My life isn’t over.  I must go forward.

I picked up a new spiral notebook to carry with me the other day.  The front cover declares, “Live Simple.”  The chaos of the past several years prevented me from achieving that directive in my life.  Now, every time I pull my notebook out of my purse to jot down a phrase or journal my thoughts, I am reminded that more stuff does not bring pleasure.  Hanging on to what I think I have will not satisfy. 

 

The cover is also adorned with the outlines of several butterflies.  Symbolic of transformation, I consider the fact that nature creates a safe space apart, where the quiet caterpillar becomes the butterfly.  It retires to the chrysalis, alone, surrounded by soft jade walls.  They begin opaque and gradually grow more transparent, finally cracking open, allowing the butterfly to emerge, a new creature, to a completely new world graced with the freedom of flight.

 

I have downsized from a large, chaotic household to a small, quiet apartment.  Like a chrysalis, it surrounds and soothes me with its silence, softens the impact of harsh reality.  I live simple here.  My possessions are limited, my responsibilities made more orderly and attainable. 

 

While not spacious, I am more able to breathe here. I contemplate the future with care; slow my reactions as I consider what step to take next.  I speak gently to my two youngest children, share quiet moments as they settle down each night.  Knowing next year will bring more changes into our lives, I treasure this year with my daughter, now a senior, soon to emerge herself as she pursues her dreams. We hang her new curtains, which I’ve just hemmed, enjoying the bold impact they make in her new room. I play cards with my 13 year old son, laughing as we enjoy matching wits.  Small pleasures make happy memories to hold onto.

 

Deep breaths to help us all grow.  Simple steps to direct us towards a life that allows each of us to become richer as we focus on relationship, not possessions.  This chrysalis will become transparent, and finally break open. I’ll have to emerge, but after my wings dry, I’ll stretch them, vibrant and strong, and sail into the sky.

My daughter and I walked down

to the bridge on main street, laughing

as we slipped along the sidewalk in the

dark, she cuddling her small dog to her

chest, and I leading the way, walking

swiftly, ducking the fingers of low branches

that sought to snag our hair.  We stopped

on the corner, before crossing, listening

to the loud report of fireworks. Still, we

could not see their bloom in the sky

before us. Misty rain coated our skin,

hair-raised, goose-pimpled. We laughed. 

Should we go on?  The rain began to soak

into our clothing.  The sign changed to walk;

we raced across the street, turned, and hurried

past the apartment building blocking our view

of the river. We reached the bridge

on Main Street, panting lightly. Turning,

looking down the river towards the park,

we gazed in admiration as the fireworks

continued to pepper the sky with color,

man-made thunder blasting through the rain.

My daughter’s eyes sparkled. So beautiful,

she sighed.  Delight stretched the minutes

as we watched in wordless wonder,

together in the rain.