Super Awesome Chocolate Chunk Ice Cream

                                                        

              "Sadness is but a wall between two gardens."

                                        -Khalil Gibran

I love the hope of the poem above, but even gardens aren't free of difficulties.  Most gardens have blooms as well as thorns, buds as well as bugs, and beauty as well as mud.   It seems lately my garden/life has been full of dying plants, drought or flood, and a sad absence of honey bees.  No doubt there are some things I could manage better, but much of what's happened in the last 18 months has been the work of mother nature- and she is a force over which -even I -have no control.

For years here (at Mayden's Voyage) I have tried hard not to "journal" my actual journey, but rather I have written reflections on situations, events, and even people who have touched my life, for good or ill, without giving away details of the back story.  I have kept a journal since I was 8.  Being able to find a place where I can write all the sordid details of my life has been an important outlet, but a very private one.   I suppose if you knew me in day to day life you might be able to read between the lines and fill in the blanks, but honestly, each of us have enough burdens of our own.  Details are heavy.  It should be enough that I find a poem I want to share because it spoke to something in my life, and then I hope it touches something in you.  If it does, beautiful, if it does not- you don't walk away concerned with details you can do nothing about.  

Currently the sadness in my life deals with connections, and wants vs needs.  Some of the connections are faulty and tremendously painful.  When you were a child, did anyone ever let you "have as much as you want" of something, like a favorite ice cream, or candy, in the hope that your over indulgent behavior would teach you a lesson?  My mom always let us have as much cake and ice cream as we wanted on our birthday.  I clearly remember feeling sick on several occasions after having more cake than I needed.   Curious how all these years later I would parallel a spiritual pain to a physical one-  both having to do with excess, and failing to be mature enough to know when to stop.   As an adult I almost never eat cake, I don't even care for it.   When am I going to mature along similar lines in the spiritual realm?  Why do I go after the emotional equivalent of 10 gallons of super awesome chocolate chunk ice cream and fail to put my spoon down when I've had 12 bites too many?  And then why do I weep when the super awesome chocolate chunk ice cream makes me throw up, stains my dress, and makes me gain 10 lbs?  It happens every time, and yes- I have done this more than once. 

I simply can't get enough of that ice cream, even though it's no good for me.  I'm spiritually lactose intolerant.  It spikes my blood sugar.  I can't just have one dish- I want the whole tub.  It makes me feel like a greedy little kid getting her way...until I don't get my way, and then I'm heartbroken.  Heartbroken for ever wanting it in the first place, yet craving it still.  The smart thing, like a person in recovery, would be to stay clear of the ice cream and cut it out of my life.   Admit I am powerless before it and that my life is unmanageable with my freezer full of the stuff.   I do admit I have a problem.  I also admit I'm not ready to fix it.   I realize this also means nothing is going to resolve or mature on my part for a while longer.   The wall of sadness between gardens is something I'm going to keep running into.   

I wonder if I can paint a mural on it?  

 

     

a last page...

It was mother's day.
The heavy iron saturated odor from his blood filled her nose, brain cells, and caused a chemical reaction in her body.   He screamed in terror for the sake of terror because he did not know the truth...he was not dying, but he felt as if he might.  She held him in her arms and looked at the face she loved beyond her own flesh, beyond her own soul.  His face, torn in 3 places, she tried to gently push back into place, trying to make his features familiar once more, but it was to no avail.  A plastic surgeon and prayer were needed, and needed soon.
He screamed, she shhhed, and he screamed above her voice in panic.   Only when she said, "Son, we need to pray." did he stop screaming, and immediately, with the epic faith of an 8 yr old, he simply said, "Dear Jesus, I need a miracle."

Unsure if there was brain damage, she sifted through her mental files and training.  She asked simple questions like, "What is your whole name?  When is your birthday?  Who is the President?  What year is it now?  Can you add 70 +30?"   He answered correctly and quickly.  A temporary peace settled over her as she thought to herself, "For now, at this moment, he is ok- at least for now- I will not lose him."

The Ambulance finally arrived.  All at once, when the paramedic came to take her son, her fear of letting go of him, and yet the intense understanding that she must trust the stranger in the blue jump suit, was a battle of wills like none other, all played out in her mind and heart.  A bloody white flag of surrender, and a faint hope her son would be in capable hands is what released her grip, but few realized how close she came to brink of madness in the seconds before.   No one ever imagined.

It was at this moment, as she stood up, she realized the blood from his head wound had soaked all the way to her flesh.  His blood.  His precious blood.  The child she knew so well externally...now she knew something of him internally.  It was awful knowledge. Red, thick, and sticky, the smell alone would leave a scar on her soul. 

Backbone and Mirth

My best friends mom, N,  was diagnosed with Parkinsons Disease several years ago.  She fought with meds, determination, and a profoundly defiant personality.  She had been a charge nurse for ages and she knew what she was up against.  Refusing dialysis when her kidneys began to shut down she knew would be a painful choice, but it would end her suffering more quickly and in a natural way.

During the last week, despite 2 seizures, she drifted in and out of consciousness- but would smile when you held her hand and spoke to her.  She had been an active member of her church, was in the choir for many years, and had been married to my best friend's dad for 38 years.   She was well loved, respected, a fabulous cook, took charge of anything entrusted to her, and was not a woman to be trifled with.   She was full of 2 things, backbone, and mirth.

Yesterday, barely awake, her husband held her hand and asked her how she was.  Her reply was, "I don't like it, but it's ok."   A little later he told her he was going to sit by the bed and read the newspaper, and her last words were, "If you are going to read the paper, then I am going to sing."
And sure enough, for about 10 seconds she sang as best she could, an indecipherable song she had hidden in her heart.
We lost her this morning.

When her husband told me this story I was at a loss for words.  Utterly and woefully trapped in a body which was actively dying, in tremendous pain from the toxins building up in her system, unable to move, feed herself, or take care of her own basic needs...and yet there was ONE thing she could do.
She could sing.

She didn't complain.  She didn't weep- even with the understanding her moments were numbered.  She didn't yell, or fuss, or cry for more time.  She sang.  She faced her last hours with a song in her heart, and a tune on her lips- inspite of the disease which had ravaged her body and taken her years too soon.
She sang.

It occurs to me, as I struggle with my own mom and her illnesses, kids in college, and moments of pain, heartache, and difficulty...as well as the beautiful fact that I am well, can run 3 miles, have never been in better shape, can cook, clean, go to the beach, sit in the sun, and love with abandon...
I do not sing enough.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LW0WA8OSXZg

Sunset at the beach~

Mr. Sun, please stay with me,
Just 15 minutes more, I plead-
But He sinks behind the waves and sea,
Other places he must be.

While waking faces look ahead,
Stretch and yawn, climb out of bed,
The moon and stars have slipped away-
And my Mr. Sun begins their day.

He never pauses when I ask,
My pleading does not alter task-
Yet at the dawning, bright and wild,
His whispers golden, "Love you child!"

Miracles

"Miracles do not, in fact, break the laws of nature."
C. S. Lewis

However, lies full of malice and corrupted intent will break your heart.
I suppose, at the sum of brokenness, lies a silver lining of truth- that one's heart is tender enough to actually be broken, and for that we can be grateful.  The shards of a shattered bottle can be repurposed for a beautiful stained glass window, or melted down and and made anew.
The bitter sting of betrayal is doubled when you realize a "friend" was NOT a friend, and all the nagging doubts you had about their true intentions, words, stories, and motives prove, yet again, your gut instincts were dead on.  ALWAYS listen to your gut.

The miracle of my day is knowing one simple truth...Love is never wasted.  What you plant with love always yields a crop, although it may not bear the fruit you were expecting.  Love is an energy which always comes back to you, and it heals, mends, soothes, and comforts.  Our brokenness is akin to a dry cracked patch of earth, and love is like a slow steady rain, followed by warm sun, and flowers will grow where it was once barren.
Love is never wasted, and forgiveness is a miracle.
May my life be full of both.