By Anne Williston
~ words meant for reality ~

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.