Some Fight In Me

That about sums up my day yesterday.

I went to my home group meeting for the first time in six weeks. Drain tube free. Pain free. Good weather. I was grateful that the hour drive was possible. I knew that getting out of my head was the best medicine for me. It would be a win-win for everyone. I sat in my chair before the meeting and felt such relief to be there even though I found it harder to be honest when people asked how I was than to fake it and be cheerful and upbeat. My ego gets caught up in wanting to be a poster child for breast cancer so people can tell me how wonderful I am. My ego will seek its glory any which way it can. It's not picky.

And then he came in and any hope I had for accolades vanished in about 15 seconds flat. He is like a father figure to me. He is as tough as nails and has the softest heart around. His way of dealing with the worry that my increasing weight loss caused him was to be gruff with me. We also have known one another long enough to have had deep conversations that have created a mutual respect of one another. He is the real deal.

So yesterday I was on my way back to my seat with a cup of tea when he hugged me and asked me how I was. "Not good." I tell him. "What do you mean 'not good'?" He said this as if it's against the law to not be fine. I looked at him and asked, "What? It's against the rules of being a human being to be not good?" "Yes." He said it in a 'you're darn tootin' kind of tone. And before the filter between my brain and my mouth had a chance to engage I looked at him and said, "Fuck you."

I had an internal 'oh shit I only meant to think that, not say it' moment. Then he laughed and said, "Good. You have some fight in you."

After the meeting I tell him I am sorry. That I hope I never say that to him again. He tells me that I need to be able to say things like that to people like him who can take it. I put my hand on his heart and say, "No. It's no excuse. I know you  have a tender heart and I don't want to walk on it." He looks at me and says, "I have no idea what you are going through." So few people have had the humility to say that to me and it brought tears to my eyes.

Thankful Thursday

I'm grateful to be done work for the week. This week has been a journey of accepting what is in front of me instead of railing against what isn't. The more I do it, the easier it gets or the sooner I recognize it's the only solution if I want inner peace.

Of Impressions and Miracles

I attended the funeral today of a man with decades upon decades of sobriety. As I listened to his eulogy I was left with the impression that he not only knew what was important in the whole scope of life, he lived it thoroughly. Thoroughly enough that nearly a thousand people turned out for his funeral. He touched many, many lives.

Our paths crossed last year for the first and last time as we shared service commitments. Within minutes of meeting we realized we'd grown up in the same area and attended the same school. That we we came to this conclusion many hundreds of miles from our original homes left us shaking our heads at the miracle of sobriety, tears in both our eyes. He took me under his wing for the brief time we spent together, a big brother with a twinkle in his eye and goodness in his heart.

Hope has many disguises.

Sunshine On My Fingertips

There is a strip of sunshine running across my fingertips as I type. It makes me smile.

A year ago tomorrow I stepped away from blogging, unsure of whether I'd start again or not. It took months for me to stop looking at happenings in my life as bloggable moments. The break has been good.

But here I am, giving it another go.

I don't know what exactly I've learned in the past year. I do know I'm further down the road including the times when the road has seemed to circle around to the same stuff. My spiritual director would say that even though the view sometimes looks the same it's from a different place on the road.

Deeper awareness. Hopefully, deeper acceptance. The more layers that get peeled off, the deeper the hope. Funny how the more aware I've become of my humanity, the more I've been able to accept myself. And then when that happens, change not only becomes possible, it happens.

I spent so many years fighting to distance myself from my humanity, protesting that "no, I'm not like that", whatever that was in the moment. Whatever I see in others is in me, too. I'm much more the same as everyone else than different.

I'm embarrassed at how long it took me to accept that reality. I was never going to be human. I was aiming for super human, better than, better. These days I am content to be me.Yes, there are moments what seems like long stretches when my ego runs the show. Sometimes I recognize it in the now and sometimes after the fact.

Yesterday I jumped off a diving board. Water went straight up my nose and burned like hell. I coughed and sputtered when I surfaced and swam to the edge of the pool where I heaved myself up and rested. One of many who jumped. No need to be the only one, the best one. Just me. Being a kid in a middle aged woman's body.

Easy, Peasy. Not

This week I was given multiple opportunities to once again acknowledge that I am not God and don't know what's best for anyone else. How easy it is to think that I do! And how easy it is to forget that I can't see the whole picture. Even the most put together people can be fighting battles that are invisible to the casual observer or even friend. I got reminded of that this week. It was humbling.

And then I spent time with someone whose praise and applause I so desperately want and who I often feel judgement from. Someone that made me want to bang the table and shriek, "Change already, you thick headed fool."

I hashed it all out with my sponsor last night who knows everyone in the story and she gave me good direction in seeing my part in it. There's always a my part of it in any situation. I'd really be screwed wouldn't I if there wasn't? I mean trying to do something about someone else's part in it could be very frustrating. Just ask me. I know.


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No Matching Required

I was in bed by 8:30 last night. I was ready to drift off to sleep when dearest one came in to get his work clothes ready for today. I watched in the shadowy lamp light as he opened the drawer of his childhood dresser and pulled out socks and underwear and a clean white t shirt. I had one of those moments of overwhelming gratitude for the simple things in life. The stuff we take for granted. Like a drawer full of matching socks.

As I watched I was taken back to a moment when I was six years old. I remember swinging my feet under the breakfast table on the kind of warm June morning that called for a dress or shorts. I had on a pair of knee high mismatched socks because that's what had been in my sock drawer that morning. Who knows what other stresses my mother was under that morning. It must have been something because she got really mad when she noticed I had on two not so white socks with mismatched patterns. She angrily sent me back to my room to get a matched pair. I didn't feel safe to tell her there weren't any. So I obediently went back to my room and stayed there a while feeling utter panic.

And there my memory ends. Sometimes I think if I squint hard enough I can see in my mind what happened after that. I doubt I missed the bus. I doubt I had on a pair of matching socks.

My mom bought groceries every Thursday of my growing up years. When I was a teenager sometimes I'd come home on a Thursday after school to find a new pair of white tube socks on the stair railing for me along with a pack of gum.

Compassion runs both ways today for me. Most likely my mom felt shame at sending me to school in a pair of mismatched socks. She couldn't do anything about it, either. There probably wasn't any money for new socks. I wish she'd had the tools to handle the situation differently but she didn't. When we know better, we do better.


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Through Gritted Teeth

Despite it being between minus 30C and minus 40C for days on end, plus snowing (over a foot and counting), well, I'll take that over flooding any day. When my spiritual director said that this afternoon I had to agree. So much for my planned communal whine fest on who in their right mind signs up for this after they've experienced it one winter, never mind decades of them.

But I restrained myself.

It was good, however, to touch base with him and get his feedback even if it had to be via phone due to the weather. And in the vein of my post the other day I was honest with him which meant my side of the conversation was peppered with a lot of "I don't give a shit" comments. It's been many, many weeks since I've been to church or a meeting and the longer it gets the harder it is to be motivated to care.

Part of me wants to remind you, especially if you've never experienced it, that it's January in the north, Spring feels like it is buried far beneath the horizon and we still get less than 8 hours of daylight (although it feels like the never appearing sun has to shine to get even that!) I haven't felt well physically. You get the drift. All that is code for don't rain on my pity party. Like a good friend used to tell me ~

"Enjoy that there pity pot while you're sitting on it because you won't sit there forever."

Then he'd throw his head back and laugh stopping only to take a drag on his smoke, when I'd shoot him a fuck you look, which only made him laugh all the harder. Because he was right, dammit. And we both knew it.

Some days I resist wanting to remember that no matter what, my attitude is mine to choose.

I told Fr. Charlie that I had decided that when my spoon supply, the weather or the road conditions were not a factor, my place was to be both at Mass and meetings because I have a responsibility to myself and to the communities I am a part of.

But I don't feel any joy about it; more a begrudgingly doing the right thing despite myself, knowing eventually I will care again. I have been surprised by what can happen when one simply shows up anyway. Many times I have told God, through gritted teeth, that I am here out of obligation, wherever here happens to be only to have that split moment happenstance where Grace reduces to me tears reminding me that I'm right where I'm meant to be.

There have been positive things I've been doing in the meantime including nearly daily contact with my sponsor and a regular period of meditation, but there really is no substitute for flesh and blood meetings on both fronts.

Walking Miracles

At an AA birthday celebration this morning we got to listen to a man play Amazing Grace on the bagpipes. Right there in the meeting room. Cool, eh?
We are all such walking miracles.
Every last one of us.
Amazing Grace, indeed.






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More Will Be Revealed

My previous post was number 1300.
I'm thinking of making a commitment to daily posting in 2011.
It was much easier to write posts when my life was full of issues.
Don't get me wrong.
I am grateful for a settled life.
And it's not as if I've arrived.
Lord knows I haven't and never will.

It just leaves me scratching my head about what to write about.

I've been reading this greatest book about being creative and writing called What It Is. AuthorLynda Barry has lots of thought provoking ideas in it.

I found it in the young adult graphic novel section of my public library after hearing the author interviewed on the radio. It looks like an innocent book. I didn't even know there was such a thing as a graphic novel. Weird term.

One little bit in it has haunted me from the first reading:

"An iceberg is a big chunk of ice that floats in the sea. Sea water is not clear. It hides most of the iceberg. In order to be safe from underwater danger, ship captains steer away from icebergs."

And then below that is the question "How is a thought like an iceberg?" She goes on to ask what thoughts are made of. Can one have thoughts without language? Is thinking voluntary or involuntary.

That kind of stuff sucks me right in. She has a new book about drawing, too.

Today I told a friend that I like reading books about writing nearly as much as I like to write. I've been frozen with fear quite a bit lately when it comes to writing. Facing how much anxiety I live with in most of my life, really. I would never have believed it had someone observed it about me out loud.

Actually someone did a few years ago and wrote it on my medical record and I was about as pissed as one can get when I read it. A few months ago I had a moment where I was facing a possible wretched outcome at work and the anxiety in my body wouldn't leave even after I had mentally worked through it. I asked myself when had I felt like that before and I knew I had lived in that state of anxiety my whole childhood. The awareness in that moment brought tears instantly to the surface. I thought I had worked through my childhood shit.

That episode prompted me to ask myself what would happen if I entertained the possibility that I live with anxiety on a regular basis. Kind of in the vein of "me thinks you do protest too much". I don't know if it's a relief to acknowledge it but at least I'm not spending energy fighting reality. At least that bit.


P.S. It was -42C with wind chill at one point today. That's -43.6F. Thankfully a chinook is on its way.

Meant To Be

Today was a one foot in front of the other kind of day although I took a sick day because whatever is kicking my butt is still kicking. Didn't think my coworkers needed to be exposed to my germs.

Today another little piece of the puzzle, as my Spiritual Director calls them, was revealed to me. Snuck up on me only to smack me right in the face. An opportunity for growth. Lovely.

Ever since saying yes to God in the midst of early sobriety, I have been determined to embrace growth opportunities. Sometimes the hug is tentative and sometimes it's a bear hug. Either way it doesn't mean they don't scare the beejezus out of me sometimes. This is one of them. I'm trusting that stuff being revealed is stuff being revealed in its proper time, that it's not some random act but meant to be.


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End Of Story....Except.....

All the posts around the blog sphere today about voting in the US makes me think they take voting much more serious south of the border than we do in Canada, where there is a general apathy about it. Least that's my opinion. I admire the difference.

When I was a child my dad was approached by a provincial politician to enter the upcoming election as a candidate. I remember a big sign that was hung on the fence announcing to the community which political party we supported.

After my dad was approached we travelled to the provincial capital so he could spend the weekend hob nobbing with politicians. Money was tight so we pitched a tent in the pouring rain, in a campground 15 minutes outside the city. I remember my mom sitting in the car smoking her Peter Jackson cigarettes while three of us kids went inside a big city hotel with my dad to some kind of political gathering. There were ladies in fancy clothes serving fancy food. I don't know if it was pity or good social graces but they treated us like we were special. We were the only kids present. Soggy, bedraggled kids who had spent the weekend camping in a tent in the rain. We never went to another political function. My mom told my dad she would divorce him if he entered politics. End of story.

Except there was this big, blue, round building at the campground where one could buy candy and pay camping fees. People would gather there for a cup of coffee to shoot the breeze. I stood not much more than eye level to the candy counter and while my dad was visiting with the man behind the counter I reached up and stole a tiny Cadbury chocolate bar. It fit right in the palm of my hand. Inside it was two squares of delicious milk chocolate. I hid in the tent, water leaking from the roof and ate that chocolate so fast you would've thought I'd inhaled it. (A habit I never lost the whole time I ate chocolate!)

I doubt I wiped all traces off my face and I'm sure my mom had other things on her mind than wondering whether her kids were stealing candy. Like how it sucked to be stuck in a campground on a rainy weekend with 5 kids while her husband spent the weekend at political parties bull shitting with the candidates and possibly the former provincial premier. Looking back I doubt I would've given up a chance to meet Tommy Douglas either had I been my dad.

Fast forward 20 years. Dearest one and I are driving down the highway to our new home. And there beside the highway is that big, blue, round building where they used to have tiny chocolate bars for sale for a nickle. I could even remember exactly which camping spot was ours.

From then on we drove past that campground every time we went grocery shopping or had a doctor's appointment. One day, after I had sobered up, I stopped to make amends for stealing that chocolate bar. I have no memory of what followed. All I know is that I stopped carrying around the guilt and shame for my childhood crime. The adults around me as a child set all kinds of poor examples of morality but stealing wasn't one of them. It was a huge relief to make that amend.


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Seeking

"Most of us don't seek God during happy times. We seek God when we're in distress."

As the priest said this tears sprang to my eyes. Had I not been an alcoholic who's life was becoming more and more unmanageable every day would I have sought God? I'll never know the answer to that one.

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Fixated

Once in a very long while I feel like I get a nudge from the Holy Spirit. Most of the time I doubt those nudges, unable to differentiate between it and my ego. My ego is great at masquerading as so many things.

But last night I was sitting at a friend's house and got a sudden urge to call another friend. I ignored it for about ten minutes and then excused myself to go use the phone and call. Tears on the other end of the line. There really is nothing I can say to a sorrowing person that will make anything any better. But I can listen. So I did.

Kindness is seriously under rated. When I hear people talk about so and so is destined to do Big Things For God I recognize my own ego inflation tendencies. My experience tells me it's much harder to be faithful in little things. Especially when I get hung up on thinking there's something bigger I should be doing. What rubbish.

I'm having a really hard time lately living in this day only. I constantly feel like I'm waiting for something. Right now it's for the time change next weekend. I'm not sure why I feel like an extra hour of sleep is going to change anything but in my mind it is. My whole growing up I was fixated on the next thing, never this thing right in front of me. It was the only way I could cope with my reality. I know my restlessness is temporary but it is not fun waiting for it to pass.

Sorting It Out

Today I sat in the parking lot before my AA meeting and just about put the car in reverse and left. I've never had such a strong resistance to going in. Thankfully a few things came to mind. One - that when you least feel like going to a meeting you should go and two - I've never regretted going to a meeting. So in I went.

I had sorted it out in the parking lot why I had such a strong resistance and I'll be hashing that out with my sponsor. I appreciate that she will tell me what I need to hear, not what I want to hear. It's why I asked her to be my sponsor in the first place. She loves me whole heartedly and will not baby me one little bit. She has the biggest heart and a humble spirit. Her bullshit detector is keen.

I am grateful though, that AA is a place where I can go and tell my truth. Today I felt resistance to being here. I sat out there and just about didn't come in. If it wasn't for what I've heard around these tables time and time again I might have put the car in reverse and driven away.

I am grateful for a place to be fully human and still loved.

Wondering

"I never believed you when you said alcoholics don't sip their drinks."

Only daughter and I had just come from my home group AA meeting. As a result of what she'd heard in that meeting she believed me now. (And there may be some alcoholics who are able to sip their drinks. I never could.)Because it was an open meeting and she hadn't been to one since she was a young child, I asked if she wanted to come with me. It was a good meeting. They aren't always. Some meetings seem deeper and fuller than others. If that makes sense. It does to me.

"Raw honesty. That's what stood out for me," she added.

I wonder if I take for granted what only daughter saw as incredible?

PS. I wrote this post way back in the summer and forgot about it. The photo is for only daughter. For once she woke up to the first snow of the season today while we...cough....cough...um, didn't. That may never happen again.

A Good Day

"Today's gonna be a good day." That was the lyric going through my head this morning as I woke up. I'd made my way to the bathroom hoping it was still the middle of the night but when I looked at the alarm clock it was only minutes until my alarm went off. Nevertheless that song lyric popped into my mind as my day started.

And it was.

My coworkers got together and showed their appreciation for all the hard work I've done the past few weeks by gifting me with a certificate to a local Spa. I'm not good at opening cards or gifts in front of others so for a moment I turned my back on all of them while I opened the card. Their kindness really touched me.

It was one of those work days when the work kept piling up and I felt like I wasn't even treading water at points. In the middle of that, in a lull, dearest one called to let me know someone had phoned me at home needing to talk about their problem with alcohol. I was able to slip away in private and return her call. It had to be Divinely led because of how that call went and how my story and hers intersected. You know when things pop out of your mouth and are unplanned and unexpected? The kicker was when she told me she was putting my number away for safekeeping right next to the word hope. Kind of gave me goose bumps, that did. I offered to stay in town and meet her at a meeting. She took me up on it only to call later and cancel. I hope to hear her voice again. I had to remind myself that we carry the message not the person. I so want today to be her bottom.

If you are the praying type please remember dearest one tomorrow in your prayers. He is having surgery tomorrow. He'll be off work quite a while recuperating. While it is not life threatening I think any time one goes under anaesthetic one faces their mortality. I am hoping he is pain free soon. I doubt he knows what that feels like anymore. It's been years.

Tonight we went out for supper to celebrate it being nearly 30 years since we got engaged. I was a teenager back then. I thought I was so grown up. I want to be a ballet dancer when I grow up. I've said that since I was a young girl. My mom used to laugh at me when I told her that. I probably said it the most often when I was in that awkward stage of adolescence when ones limbs are gangly and don't seem to fit the body they're attached to. I said that as often as I told her I wanted a nose job for Christmas or my birthday. I said it for years. Today I never give my nose a thought. It still looks the same as ever but I've changed. Today I take my wish to be a ballet dancer as having its roots in being about the beauty of the movement and about the inherent grace in it as well.

And today I feel beautiful and graceful so maybe my wish came true after all.

Treasure Trove

"You know, Hope, just live in this moment. After all, you could be dead before tomorrow."

"Hey, that's right! I could be dead and then I wouldn't have to deal with this would I?"

Oh, lovely thoughts that come into my head when I am feeling stressed to the max. Thoughts that sometimes make me laugh right in the midst of gut churning and heart racing anxiety about something I have no control over and have no idea how it's going to turn out.

I am very grateful to be in recovery.

It helped me delete an entire paragraph in an email where I had been trying to deflect my stuff by pointing out someone else's. I sat here and told myself that all I could do was own my stuff. End of sentence. So I deleted a paragraph that I'd thought might work in my favour in the situation. My side of the street. That's what I'm responsible for.

It doesn't absolve me of consequences. It doesn't even make it turn out pretty. But even in the midst of it all I feel clear about what's mine to own and what isn't.

I wrote the above about an hour ago. Then I made a phone call and found out that the gut churning, heart racing anxiety had not been founded in the reality of the situation. There were no dire consequences. There weren't even any consequences. The situation had been resolved by my email and then the whole thing vanished like a thin puff of smoke. The other person laughed and waved it away as it hadn't been a huge concern to them in the first place.

Yesterday, when it all started, I asked myself if this bodily reaction was what I felt as a child growing up in an abusive home. Instantly I knew I spent most of my childhood with my gut churning and that high level of anxiety running through my body. I felt a deep sorrow about this because I'd never recognized it before. Even typing that makes me teary. I can't remember the last time I thought I was in trouble and that bodily reaction came so instantaneous.

It took a lot of talking and praying to separate my childhood reaction from what was happening yesterday. It really bothered me that once I was clear in my head my body was still on high alert. For hours.

I spent the evening with a group of friends and talked it out. As the conversation shifted to the rest of the group and I sat quietly listening to where our journeys intersected my body relaxed enough that I was left with perhaps 5% of the original anxiety.

I prayed before I went to sleep. I didn't sleep well. The situation was on my mind the moment I woke up. I went to sleep and dreamed about the person and the situation. I woke up with more than a touch of gut churning and heart racing. Dearest one prayed with me and then lit prayer candles before heading to work.

And then I made the phone call and everything was okay.

I've been reading this book a little bit every night before I go to sleep. Last night I read:

"....you can use anything - everything - as a wake up call; you can find a treasure trove of information about yourself and the world in the big trials and the little annoyances of daily life. If you turn around and face yourself in times of loss and pain, you will be given the key to a more truthful - and therefore a more joyful - life."

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The Answer Would Be "No"

"I wish I could go home and have a drink to relax."

That's the thought that went through my head on the way home every night this week. I didn't freak out at the thought, because a drink was not what I was after, but I did let myself sit with the thought. I wondered what was it beneath it that I was looking for. What was it about the scenario that was attractive to me? The previous week I had sat in a bar with coworkers as they closed their evening with a drink while I sipped on peppermint tea. I found the scene such a foreign feeling that I excused myself early and went to bed. I wonder if being in that setting had prompted my thoughts.

This week I have worked double and a bit more hours than I normally do. By yesterday late afternoon I had handled 350 pieces of paper. Most of them 4 times once you include photocopying, scanning, signing, double checking. They are still in a pile waiting to be filed now. All that to say it has been a very busy week. I have driven home exhausted every evening. I have never worked a Saturday in this job until yesterday. It was wonderful to leave my desk finally cleared of papers yesterday afternoon and go home.

The second night that thought above went through my mind I realized what I was looking for was some way to reward myself for the hard work I was doing. I was craving recognition and reward. So I got creative. I wanted a beta endorphin boost. I went and picked fresh veggies in my garden and dug potatoes for supper. An hour from ground to table. What a treat! Another night I got home and forced myself to put on my running shoes and went for a walk. That helped. I spent an evening with a group of friends. We did a lot of talking and belly laughing and ended the evening in prayer. By Thursday, when the thought was still rattling around in my head, I booked a massage for yesterday. A treat I have not had in several years.

And then came Friday. As I pulled to a stop at a red light there was that thought once again. I asked myself what was it I was looking for. Out of nowhere came a question,

"Has going home and relaxing with a drink ever been your experience?"

I started to laugh. Um, the answer would be no. It was never even a goal. I can't relate to it one bit. I can relate to drinking to get drunk. Drinking as fast as I can guzzle them. Drinking to numb the feelings.

But relaxing and having a drink, no. I had been romanticising an experience that was foreign to me. And with that the thought stopped harassing me. It still makes me laugh.

Yesterday I went to work early and then stopped part way through my day to have my massage (it was wonderful,I booked another one) and then went to my home group meeting where I shared this week's experience. I was so grateful to have a place where I could go and be honest and get understanding in return. I went back to the office with a lighter heart.

Now I have two days off to relax and refresh. I slept past 6 AM and soon family will be here to spend the day with us. Tomorrow I will tackle things that need to be done before work comes around again. I have a garden that needs cleaning out. There are simple every day chores to be done. Life is good.


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Giving My Head A Shake

"How about I forget to send it in the courier and by the time it eventually gets there all will be good?"

I'd gone into her office and shut the door behind me to ask her perspective on my newfangled plan to help someone through a loophole I designed myself.

"But if they ask me on the other end I'll have to lie and say oops, I forgot. I'll know I conveniently forgot,not accidentally forgot. Okay, so that's not going to happen. Scratch that plan. I have to sleep at night."

My boss smiles at me. She knows that I'm a stickler for having my integrity intact at the end of the day. Not sure why forgetting on purpose became a viable option in my own mind to begin with, although if I told you the whole story you might see why, but the bottom line was it instantly became a non option when I realized I might have to lie to cover my butt down the road. If I hadn't thought it through out loud with my boss I might not have seen that and then would've slipped through the loophole only to fess up when I realized what I'd done.

I know in the whole scheme of life most people would look at the situation and think what is the big deal. So a piece of paper gets sent a week late and it helps someone out. On the other end that slip of paper being a week late is really not a big deal. It wouldn't make a difference to them in the long run. But I'd know my motivation and intention and well, there you go. I was grateful for some clarity before it all potentially blew up in my face.

I handled so many pieces of paper today that I left them in a stack on my desk to deal with tomorrow. Although tomorrow will see another stack as high to add to it. By day's end I couldn't think straight and instead of spending any energy on getting tomorrow's day ready I left the papers on my desk, locked the office and came home. I am once again counting the time until I can go to sleep. I am grateful this weariness is temporary.



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Diddly Squat

I didn't feel like going
to my meeting today.
I wanted to stay home.
A place I have yet to be for more than a night's sleep,
and sometimes not even that,
in nearly 2 weeks.
But you know what?
I went.


I went because I could and this is my home group
and I made a commitment when it became my home group
that I would show up when possible.
And today it was possible.
I just didn't want to.
There are some times when what I want doesn't matter diddly squat.

All this to say that I had an unexpected epiphany
while listening during the meeting.
It wasn't something anyone said.
I was simply sitting there, opening myself up to
whatever God had for me,
when into my head came an answer to something I wasn't even looking for.
I had to gulp so I wouldn't start sobbing.
It felt like that much of a gift.

Later dearest one and I stopped in to visit a fried who most likely does not have a whole lot of time left to live. We don't know for sure but we wonder.
And we visited with him and his spouse and had a lot of laughs.
Belly laughter.
A gift.

I marvelled at our friend's merry face in the midst of pain and suffering.
It was as if his face was lit up from the inside.
Part of me wanted to take his arm, matchstick that it has become,
and shake him while asking why the laughter, why the light when
death seems to be creeping in? How is it possible?
But today was not a day for those kind of questions.
At least not of him.


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