It feels like I’ve been Holding my breath For days and days Waiting for results Over which I had Absolutely no control- Control-I’m beginning To think that word Should be erased- Is there any such thing anyway? In an attempt, my brain Played out both scenarios- Good news and Bad news-trying to Foresee my reactions Would I be brave? Would I cry? Would I crumble Into a million tiny Pieces on the floor? Today was the day The news was good No sign of cancer! My response? A deep breath Followed by tears- Tears of relief and joy- I can breathe again
Today, I am thankful for positive results. But I am also mindful of the many whose news was not positive. Many have fought the battle against cancer-friends and family. It seems to strike with little rhyme or reason. And whether their physical battle was won or lost, their bravery is lasting. I cannot celebrate today without also remembering…💗
Power is often Found in the simple Expressions of love In very few words Because those are The only words Necessary- Praying for peace Held in love Thinking this morning Filled with courage- Words from the Hearts of others Allowing themselves To be givers Of the calm Their kindness Pulling away Anxiousness Lifting me up Carrying me Reminding me how much I am loved and cared for Leaving a smile On my face A melody In my heart
These past few weeks have been challenging. An MRI led to a biopsy which led to surgery. Yesterday, I had an excisional biopsy. The surgery went well. I am having very little pain and will spend a few days resting. Once again, we are waiting for the results.
I was very anxious the few days leading up to surgery, until the day before and the morning-of when messages began to pop up on my phone. Each one lifted another piece of the struggle. Each one reminded me that someone else cared.
Yesterday morning, I was overwhelmed with feelings of peace and calm. As I thought about it this morning, I realized many contributed to those feelings. They are still present today. And I know they will carry me through the waiting. ❤
Water was rising Along with it-fear Threatening to take Control of the day As it covered first Feet, then ankles, And knees before Briefly pausing At the waist- Desperate to find A way out of the deep Before suffocation Reached the chest, I closed my eyes- Letting go of fear Hope began to flow Along with it-trust Pushing and pulling Through the currents Inch by inch until My feet stood Once again On the shore Greeted by the love That never stopped Calling my name
I grew up with a large extended family. My parents have been married for over fifty years. In my circle of family and friends, we have experienced life and death, cancer, anxiety and depression, and, of course, art, and music. I could discuss any of those things all day long.
There are other things I would rather not discuss. This week I was reminded more than once of life experiences for which I have no point of reference.
The first one involved a younger student. Before class, the teacher mentioned that the father of this child was going to prison. This friend was restless, struggling to engage and fit in. Quickly moving between over-excitement and complete stillness. I think it had been a rough day.
I had my young friend sitting right beside me during music class. When I sensed a little restlessness, I slowly patted on the back-a steady, gentle, sixty-beats-per-minute pat. It seemed to help.
After class, I found myself thinking, “How could my actions possibly help this situation for the long-term?” Yes, they might have helped at that moment. However, in the grand scheme, offered little.
The second involved an older student. This student was able to put their feelings and experiences clearly into words. Nothing could prepare me for hearing, “I was taken away from mom. I talk to her sometimes, but she really doesn’t want to see me.”
I managed a short response, “I’m sorry. You are special. I love you.”
I cannot possibly understand how this student feels. I could offer a listening ear, a kind word, and a smile. Was that enough? It certainly did not feel like it at the moment.
Thankfully, I am not the only one listening. I work in a school building, a district, and a profession with many other caring adults. Many of them listen to heart-breaking stories every day. And the collective listening and responding do have the power to make a positive impact.
No, I may not have a personal point of reference for these two students. And I know there are many other stories I have not heard. But there is strength in numbers. And tonight, I will rest in that point of reference.
Once again A storm is raging Emotions swirling Like a tornado In my head The beginning Indistinguishable From the ending Questions flood My thoughts- Why this? Why now? Why me? But I must push Past the questions And just be- Waiting-holding on Until a tiny Break appears In the clouds A split second Ray of sunshine Piercing the dark Clearing my thoughts Lighting my path Just enough to Observe the dust Beginning to settle Assurance the storm is passing
Lost and Found
Where are you?
I sense you are close
But my eyes can’t see
I reach out my hands
Fumbling in the dark
Wishing the clouds away
Where are you?
I ask out loud this time
A little further-just listen
My feet move slowly
Toward the sound of your voice
It grows louder with each step
Suddenly, my hands touch yours
No longer lost, I stand with you
Under the light of the stars
I am currently re-reading an old favorite, “Hinds’ Feet on High Places” by Hannah Hurnard. I love this allegory, especially the main character, Much-Afraid. This book was first introduced to me by my precious friend, Shannon.
A specific passage caught my eye as I read this morning.
“…while the storm still furiously raged outside, there they were, sitting around a crackling fire, warming themselves and drying their sopping garments while they drank comforting hot cocoa and satisfied their hunger. Though the uproar of the tempest without was almost deafening and the hut shuddered and shook in every blast, yet inside was nothing but peace and thanksgiving and cheerful contentment.”
What a goal. To experience that kind of inner peace, no matter the storm outside.
I once heard someone say the following regarding life and storms. At any given time…
A storm is approaching
A storm is raging
A storm has passed
For me, it seems finding peace is most difficult when the storm is approaching. The clouds are far off in the distance, but it’s only a matter of time before it arrives. The “calm” can be thick with tension. Questions are constant. What if, what if, what if…
The time before the storm is when my anxiety builds. And then when the storm finally arrives, it fades. I just have to push through. That is when I realize I never really had any control anyway.
Although storms cause us to question, they seldom provide answers. They are sometimes accompanied by sorrow and suffering. But I must believe that the possibility of peace exists. Even when it is hard to find.
Each of us has to find our way through the storms. But we do not have to face them alone.
“Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by.” Psalm 57:1
Some days an attempt to write falls flat and the words just won’t come. Today started that way. Frustrated, I decided to play the piano instead.
Sitting down at the piano, I hoped a favorite hymn would put me in the right frame of mind to write. But my playing also fell flat. There were too many mistakes. The melody sounded choppy. Not very musical.
Though tempted to give up, I played the hymn one more time. When I began to play the second time, the words were suddenly present (in my head) along with the melody.
What a difference! Musically imperfect, but a clear message. And this time, playing brought a true sense of joy.
Hmmm…maybe when words won’t come, I need to hear words that are not my own.
So, today I say, “Happy Easter” with the help of English poet and clergyman, John Newton. My prayer is that Newton’s words and a familiar melody will bring you joy and hope on this Easter Sunday.
🎶Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound That saved a wretch like me I once was lost, but now am found Was blind but now I see
Through many dangers, toils, and snares We have already come Was grace that brought us safe thus far And grace will lead us home🎶
As I opened up my computer to write this morning, all I could think was, “look at that blank page.” No idea what I wanted to write about, I just knew I needed to write. And then it occurred to me all these days at home are truly blank slates. There was no advanced plan for them. Each one is faced truly not knowing what the next one will bring.
Although that is true of our daily reality, we don’t often live that way. We make our plans, plan our trips, and dream about the future. Don’t misunderstand, those are important things to do. However, they must be balanced with the acceptance that we never truly know what tomorrow holds.
Even more than future planning, these circumstances make me think of missed opportunities. For example, if a specific person comes to mind today, I am more likely to send a quick text. Three weeks ago, I might have pushed it to the back of my mind. “Oh, I will contact them tomorrow…”
Not that I am following through on every thought, but I am working on being more intentional. I’ve already experienced the payoff in some ways that may seem small. One “Hello, how are you” text yesterday resulted in a sweet phone conversation about life and changes. It also brought much-needed tears and encouragement. That conversation will stick with me for a long time.
Another experience from earlier this week also made a lasting impression. I was thinking about dropping off a small care package to a dear friend. The plan was to leave it outside her door, get back in my car, and wave from a safe distance. Even typing it, it sounds silly. I almost didn’t do it.
Thankfully, I decided not to worry about looking silly. When my friend walked out of her front door, I found myself wanting to jump out of the car, run over, and give her a hug. She even had to remind herself not to keep walking in my direction. Driving away, I fought back tears.
My takeaway? We need each other. We miss each other. And I cannot wait to once again freely embrace my family, friends, colleagues, and students. I don’t know when that will happen.
Until it does, I will keep looking at these blank slate days with faith and hope and love. And just maybe, cover that blank slate with a little kindness. ❤
“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” I Corinthians 13: 13
Piano Girl 