Grow with Change

Photo by Javier Allegue Barros on Unsplash

As Summer drifts into Fall, I’m ready to move on from the blistering heat of Summer.  I am looking forward to the turning of the leaves, the cooler temperatures, apple cider, everything spice flavored —-OK maybe not the  Pumpkin Spice Toilet Paper you can get on Amazon. 

Transitions can be hard—-whether it’s the seasons, or our lives.  We don’t know what to expect—-some days are beautiful with 70 degrees and some are still brutaly hot.

Many of us are also going through transitions in our lives with the passing of a bridge partner, living without a spouse, losing our independence, moving from our home of 50 years.  Even changing our cleaning schedule can be hard.

Fred Rogers famously noted, “Transitions are almost always signs of growth, but they can bring feelings of loss. To get somewhere new, we may have to leave somewhere else behind.”

He also offers hope, “Often when you think you’re at the end of something, you’re at the beginning of something else.” 

Feel that loss on one hand, but on the other hand, try new foods, sit at a different table, meet new friends, take a painting class, read a new author.  

Grow!

 

 

Angel 2020

 

Angel heralding my joy for Christmas:

Trumpeting for all to gather

To celebrate Christ’s birth—

Elegantly swaying in the breeze

Waltzing in the wind.

Found one morning in a heap.

The wind knocked out of her.

Pieces scattered.

Rainy and cold, I try to help. . . .

The wind is too strong, too biting.

Brought into the garage, a refuge from the wind,

To re-assemble,

To warm my hands,

to gather my thoughts.

With pliers, zip ties, stakes,

She stands again, but. . . .

She’s changed. 

She has her battle scars, but

She also has changed her attitude.

She is sassy, challenging.

Blown over by the winds,

She leans a little—

her dance has changed , 

her wings outstretched—jazz wings.

Still playing her trumpet, but more Louis Armstrong 

And less Gabriel.

Stand back.

Keep your distance.

Dancing by myself.

Challenging the world,

But, dancing.

Celebrating Christ's birth

Alone,

But, dancing.

A New Orleans Angel

We were arriving in New Orleans in the rain after a Caribbean cruise . I always feel anxious disembarking from the cruise.  It's not so much leaving a pampered life style behind as it is being in long lines of grumpy people who are worried about their flights home, finding their luggage, getting someone to help them get the luggage to the curb or they just need another cup of coffee.  I have more anxiety than most because I feel like it is all up to me---getting the luggage and managing my husband Dave in a wheel chair, navigating the whole process.

I had left Dave in a wheel chair on the curb with our  small travel umbrella and our luggage, as I scampered over the railroad tracks to get our van on the cruise parking lot in a light rain.  I had a pretty good idea where our car was, having spotted our silver mini-van from the cruise ship and taken a photo—wow, was I wrong.  I wandered up and down the aisles searching for our van getting wetter.  My anxiety was building as I thought of Dave just sitting there in the rain with our luggage AND I had at least a 30 minute drive from the parking lot to where he was since the street was one-way in a giant loop with lots of traffic and stop lights.  

I started praying, “Please, God, help me find our van” as I continued searching up and down the endless aisles.  After a few minutes an elderly man in a golf cart approached and asked, "Do you need help."  I started crying, “I can’t find our van my husband is in a wheel chair on the curb getting wet and it’s going to take me at least 30 minutes to get him because I can’t wheel him over the railroad tracks.”  “Ma’am, let’s first find your van and then we’ll get your husband.”  

We found the van which wasn’t even close to the area I was searching in.  Then, he said, “Let’s go get your husband.”  He took us over the tracks, loaded the luggage, Dave, and the wheelchair into the cart and took us back to the van.  He put the suitcases and wheel chair in the van while I helped Dave get in. I could feel that weight of anxiety slowly slipping away.

Before he left, I tipped my rescuer $20 and said, “Thank you for  rescuing me—you are like an angel answering my prayers.” He looked at me with tears and said with a catch in his voice, “That means more to me than the tip.  Thank you.”  I often tell people, “my guardian angel is an elderly man in New Orlean riding on a golf cart." I try to remember that moment anytime I feel weighted down with anxieties and worries.  If God could send that man to rescue us in New Orleans, he will be there for this crisis too.

A Battered Ship

A ship battered 

By the winds, the waves.

The sails tattered,

The leaking holes plugged,

Limping into the harbor.

Slow!

The captain steers the ship from the rocks,

Finds the port: a path to peace.

And repairs, restores, revives.

Will a new sail make it sea-worthy

When it still may be leaking?

Fresh paint may just mask the damage.

The ship wants to sail again, but the waves, the wind:

Prays that it can again be seaworthy,

Strong enough to withstand new storms.

Or should it just safely wait in the harbor

Until the time to be scrapped—

Recycled into a new life.

Go! 

Head for another adventure!

Quietly rotting is not an option.

Check for leaks along the way——

Be mindful of the storms,

But sailing!