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Nature, Films, and Devotion

18 Mar

Nature (part 1):  Finding my way through the great out of doors.

I am not a photographer.  In fact I abhor the task of photographing anything.  Yet with the cell phone camera, now at my disposal, I have found myself more eager to capture something I want to remember.  For instance, while out on a walk or hike should I come across something in nature that causes me pause, I think to myself, “I would like to capture this inspiring moment and share it with someone else.”  But more important than this nonsense of my use or non-use of a camera is the idea in the aforementioned sentence of nature giving one, a cause to pause.  For as you know, from reading my last few posts, I am slowly crawling out of the pit of extreme stress.  And while in the pit, I don’t care what kind of natural phenomenon might occur before my eyes, my soul was too bogged down to appreciate.  Oh my mind was keen to understand the beauty before me if an instance such as a hummingbird allowing me the rare opportunity of a private viewing, should present itself.  But my soul would have no response.  It was just plain ‘ol, flat.

So it is, when I am out and about in my suburbian nature and my soul is touched by something, not just my mind, I can delight in the knowledge that I am “coming back”.  For when in darkness, it is difficult to even recognize oneself.  I am a nature lover, thus when nature I cannot love, there is an obvious disconnect.

The following photos are ones taken with my little Samsung cell phone, while out walking with Piper the dog.  Their occurrence before me caused me pause.  And in that quiet state, I thanked my Lord for utilizing nature (once again) to call me back.  The beauty of the Cherry Blossom seemed to say, “I lay dormant along with you, but it is again time to bloom.”  The trickling of the San Juan Creek reminds me that while the hand of man is just a few steps away, the hand of the Lord is always present (as the running water, in an otherwise dry creek-bed, testifies).  And the colorful turning of the leaves of one solitary tree, amidst the evergreen backdrop, silently demands recognition…you decide what it says!  For me, its silence enacts a balm-like remedy to my spirit…the golden quiet.

Last, but not least, is the juxtaposition of the man made stop sign alongside the pink blossoming tree.  Actually, the sign is appropriate to the context of this post.  “Stop,” it says.  Stop and redirect.  Somehow, someway, get a new perspective.  See again.  Breathe again.  Take pause.  Utilizing the grand, or not so grand, natural occurrences around us can call us back.  Back to a place of understanding who we are.  Even in a city environment one can experience the powerful call of nature as a weed makes its way through a crack in the concrete, shouting loud and clear, “I am Here, I made it!”  And the inadvertent message to us should be, “so can we.”

Next up, Films, part 2.

Nature in Suburbia

Nature in Suburbia

Fluffy2012

The accomplice

SJCcherryblossom

Engulfed in Pink

SJCcherryblossom2

Harmonious living

San Juan Creek

The running creek

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Dancing with the Devil

7 Mar

In my varied traipses through life, I have, time and time again, found the following, figurative analogy, to be true:  When a person becomes addicted to a mind altering substance (aka: illicit drugs and some not so illicit, yet rendering the same effect), the Devil can walk away.  His job is done, the drugs take over.  The job being the mission to destroy.  But before the diabolical being has the freedom to relinquish its prey to the, master of wreckage, a dance occurs.  The Lucifer Waltz.  This is where Lucifer has the lead, but only if his partner is a willing follower.  Like any waltz, there is an objective to the act.  And through a good leader of dance (which the Devil is), the second partner will receive the intended result because of the effortless guiding of the leader.  Thus, with poise and purpose, the victim of the waltz is lead through the steps to get there.  There being addiction.  Once there, it seems to me, the Devil walks away.

Since last October the world of narcotics has entered our life.  Yes, my son is a cancer patient.  Yes, he has an unfortunate affliction of unidentifiable pain (unidentifiable meaning, the brain is registering a severity of infliction yet the body is functioning without harm–not an uncommon occurrence post a disruption to the brain as he has suffered by the removal of his brain tumor).  Yet with the introduction of pain management, into his life, the dance began.

These past four months my husband, my daughter, and myself (friends and extended family included) have been watching on the side lines while our beloved has been swept from one side of the room to the other, whirling and twirling in many directions.  All of them pointing downward.  And of course this dance came in a prettier package than one found on the street, for it has the seal of approval from the echelon of the medical community.  Fancier clothes, same waltz!

My son needs help to be sure.  Yet help has come with too high a price…fear.  Fear our beloved will not awake.  Fear our beloved will lose all hope.  Fear our beloved will be taken away and a drone of a human left in his stead.  Fear the music will end and he will not be left standing.

I have shared my concerns with my son, we all have.  Thankfully, he has been given an insane amount of strength…strength for life.  He has heard the cries of his family.  The overwhelmingly loud cries of his failing body, and has stepped off the dance floor.

Are narcotics still present in our lives?  Yes, though not to the same degree.  Yet for a while there it seemed the Devil was gaining in its efforts to no longer take issue with my son.   But it is the fool, for my son stopped the music while the dance was in progress.  And for now, the intense amount of familial stress has subsided.  We are abandoning our posts as spectators, nay judges…nay, survivors of the dance.  We are returned to other things: dreaming, working, exercising, loving, sharing.  No longer ‘white knuckling’, but living.

Previous to October, if someone asked me if I would like to pray, my answer was always a question, “Oh, did I stop?”  Meaning, I am so accustomed to being in constant communication with Father G-d that I would only stop talking to Him, in order to have a conversation with someone else.  Yet only just a few weeks ago I had to enact a practice of beginning each day with prayer.  An act which required reminders and an effort to remember.  But I ask you, “Is it any wonder my prayers were silenced for a spell?”  After all, can anyone hear their own thoughts when Cacophony is orchestra leader to the ‘Lucifer Waltz’?!

Note:  I do not claim to understand the power of addiction, nor its infliction on any one person.  I have not the education to claim any real knowledge on the subject.  It is only my experience, as a witness to the demise of life and the role drug addiction has played in the cause of destruction, of which I write in this post.  My heart is heavy for those who are no longer dancing.

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Interior Design

23 Feb

Today is the 3rd morning after I wrote my previous post .  In that particular writing I had avowed to start my day off with prayer, before even getting out of bed.  Well I am here to tell you that today is the third day I have awoke, jumped out of bed, flew to the kitchen for a drink of water, mozied over to the coffee pot to start my brew, only to remember:  I FORGOT TO START MY DAY WITH PRAYER!  Back to my bed I run…  Run, written in the present tense because it is a present condition until a new habit is formed.

(I am tempted to interject the song, Three Days, by K.D. Lang, but I will spare you the musical interlude–just know that I am a walking jukebox and pretty much have a tune for every word, thought, and occasion)

How quickly I have adjusted to my habit of self focus, how difficult to redirect the interior of my design.  I am thankful for this blog.  It has, even in the slightest, kept me on a track I wish to follow.  By simply being a reminder to my soul of the desire of my heart.  Apparently, I need the help.  I can tell you that going back to bed and forcing myself to converse with The Almighty G-d has truly been an effective method in strengthening, me.  Now if you have been reading my musings for a bit of time, you will know that I tend to not divulge the intimate details of what transpires here at home.  Those details belong to not just myself, but my husband, son, and daughter.  Only after I feel the circumstance is “safe” will I allow myself the freedom to share beyond the ambiguous notion of the end result.  But to help illuminate, for you the reader, the ‘why and how’ of the impact of starting the day off with prayer, I must let you have a closer look into how thin my psyche has been worn.

Example: If one prays for a miracle, and then receives a yes answer to said prayer, one would think that the requester of the miracle would recognize its presence.  At least I would consider that to be true.  Except just the opposite has happened to me.

My birthday came and went like the breeze, this past January.  And on that particular day we received a call (actually my son did), from his doctor telling him that there was an area of abnormality which showed up on the routine MRI’s he had, had the previous day.  I quickly accessed the report myself and sent it off, via email, to his neurosurgeon.  Unfortunately after having spent the last two years inundated in this new world of brain tumors and 4th ventricular ependymoma, I am now educated enough in MRI reports to understand the circumstance of the abnormal reading…but only enough to be slightly dangerous to myself.  At any rate, all fingers (so to speak) pointed to disease recurrence.  And his next set of xrays, which were going to take a closer look at the area in question, were not for another week.  So we Bents, along with the neurosurgeon at the VA, our private neurosurgeon who performed the original surgery, and Cole’s many other doctors were 99% positive the cancer had returned.  Yet for some crazy reason (actually not crazy at all, but indicative of lives living by faith), we were holding onto the 1% chance…hoping for a miracle.

I am happy to report that the follow up tests showed there was no cancer, only an “artifact left over from the original surgery.”  AN ARTIFACT!!!  I can’t tell you how relieved we all are.  The neurosurgeon’s email response to me was priceless, “Whew. OMG!”  But you know what?  I had been so exhausted from the accumulation of stress upon my soul that I didn’t even consider the miracle of the news.  It was actually my brother, who was finally able to get a hold of me a few days later, who said, “well I think we’ve witnessed a miracle.”  My response? …oh yeah, wow, I guess we have.

Now that, my friend’s, is sad.  A girl living by faith, yet so bogged down that she can’t even see her Father in action!  That was my wake-up call.  My trumpet sound, my slap in the face.  A change needed to come, and I am the only person who could(can) enact it.  And that is why, three days ago I wrote the post, “Better Homes and Garbage” about beginning anew.  Redecorating my inner walls.  And why, for three mornings I have run back to my bed to honor the recognition of the doomed state from which I desire to leave.

Now can I get a witness?? 🙂

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