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Meant For

Cold sterile room

Four walls

Closed in

Plastic lined bed

White lights overhead

Waiting, watching the clock

Clipboards on the door

Nail biting

Teeth gridning

Footsteps on the other side

Continue to pass by

Phones ring

Distant voices



Tall green grass

Wildflowers and the water

Wind in my hair

Warm light

Colors vivid and bright

Water’s cool delight

Tiptoe on the rocks

Peak down and across

My reflection ripples away

Birds chirp

Crickets sing

Fish swim

An insect bites

A bee zings

Flowers to adore

Wanting nothing more

Running, skipping, singing

We were meant to be outdoors.

- August 3, 2016 -

I must have written that after another ER visit, possibly. Or after a long wait at the hospital. If I could count up the hours, no not the hours, the energy spent, in those rooms....what would I do with it? It always felt so waisted. We could be doing so many other things. My life, and his life, they were on hold. Every time we entered those rooms, we didn't do something else. We didn't play at the park with the kids. We didn't make it to that birthday party. We didn't get to sing and play that song together after the kids were in bed. We didn't go out with friends that night. we didn't, we didn't, we didn't get to live our best life. How silly that we were only sitting and waiting, but we called it fighting? The waiting was accompanied by worry. And fear. And chemicals running through our veins. Adrenalin. Cortisol. I always felt within me a great desire to run. Or yell. Or demand. I could not be in one of those rooms anymore without feeling sick myself. Always watching my husband. Waiting seemed to never end. It is a battle. But you don't even get a sword. And other people tell you how to fight. It's unfair. I didn't want to go into those rooms anymore. I wanted to be in the place where I knew we were meant to be. I wanted to be free.

It took even more of my power away, watching my mother suffer a similar yet completely different diagnosis. I didn't think I had it in me to do it all over again. Jason had only just begun to have clear scans and good news. It was almost a new wind in our sails. Almost. But after mom got sick, I became deflated. Must everyone I love suffer so? Her rooms were even more depressing and hopeless. They held even more bad news. And we lost her. I lost so much of myself when she died. But it wasn't just the loss of a mother that did that. It was the war that took it out of me. The war we waged was mental. It was emotional. It was spiritual. It was physical. Everyone who entered those rooms was effected on all fronts. Everyone's heart was breaking. It was hard to watch.

So much of me left this world the day she went. So a part of me is here trying to remain alive and desiring to see the beauty in all things. That is a hard task after looking ugliness and death in the face for some time. But I am hopeful that things will change. And it seems that yes, they do. Although I see things differently now. I know that one day I will have to enter those rooms again, so I have to find my strength now. And I feel it happening slowly.

It is nature that is bringing me back. Odd. I didn't expect the outdoors to wield so much power over me. Thank God it does! It sets me down. Quiets my heart. Lets me think. It lets me feel everything. It has no judgment. I can cry. Nature can take it. I can yell, and the sky does not mind. I can lie down, eyes closed on the ground, and she will heal me. Now, all I can think, with tears in my eyes, is that it all belongs to God and that He gave it to me. I feel so close to God when I am alone outside. As always, His words come rushing back to me. I know Him. I love that. He knows me. I love that. I do see that I am finding beauty in the world again, through nature. It was so dark in those rooms. And the windows, so dim.

My husband still gets scans, treatments, and makes his regular doctor visits. Those rooms still exist in our life. Thank God they have held more good news lately! So we see those rooms a little less. They diagnose, treat, and help. We need them. But we were meant for something else. We were meant for something grand. We were meant to express and behold. I think it's because nature heals. And it is all around us. I seem to miss this more than anyone. Maybe I am starting to slow down and see things more clearly? Lately, my family and I enjoy more outside than ever before. We go find an adventure whenever when we can. We hike, we swim, we climb, we ponder and we play. We want that over luxury. We desire it more than wealth. I want to hear my thoughts again, and the sound of the crisp water rushing by. I want to watch my children trek barefoot, across the grass, toward a pond with a fishing pole in hand. I want to sit by the fire and watch the embers burn. I want to walk in the wilderness. I want to stand quietly, peering through the woods. It feels so very good to be there.

Maybe it's what I was meant for.

"And into the forest I go to lose my mind and find my soul."

- John Muir

But ask the animals what they think - let them teach you; let the birds tell you what's going on.

Put your ear to the earth - learn the basics. Listen - the fish in the ocean will tell you their stories.

Isn't it clear that they all know and agree that God is sovereign, that he holds all things in his hand?

- Job 12:7-9

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