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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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Better Homes and Garbage

20 Feb

I am clawing my way out of a hole.  A hole I cannot see, touch, nor feel.  I’m merely encircled in it.  Ever find yourself encircled by a circle?  Entwined in a vine?  Entranced in expanse?  Oy Vey, I shall stop there!  Enough with the quasi rhyme-y, alliteration wanna be(s).

My hole is easily defined, for it is wallpapered with ingratitude.  I shall therefore attempt to remember (this phrase is key, for when one is under a great deal of stress, remembering things–the right things–is a challenge) to set my thoughts upon the Heavenly before touching my feet to the ground.  I shall attempt to remember to greet my Almighty Father first thing in the morning, before I lift my head from my pillow.  And by doing so, the redecorating process begins.

 

Another song to help lift the spirit…

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Keeping House in Purgatory

27 Jan

I like to arrange furniture.  Actually, I like to arrange, re-arrange, and flat out design rooms for functionality, efficiency, comfort, and visual delight.  Thankfully I am married to a design junkie as well.  He not only enables my inclinations, but he is a full packaged resource when it comes to any and all of my fancies–whether it be the design or the build.  Sometimes we work together to formulate a new quadrant creation, and sometimes we work as fast as thieves to get our vision to the end product before the other spouse can override the desired change.  All in all, we have loads of fun in either situation.  And we both enjoy keeping a non-cluttered environment where we can rest from the excitement of the world outside, and welcome friends and family to the Bent life as we live it.

Note: For some reason I am really struggling to write this post in English.  My thoughts are being driven by my Spanish speaking mind and translating to the Germanic language is a challenge.  …just something for you, the reader, to keep in mind as you meander through this literary presentation.

In fact, right now I sit in my living room mentally wanting to give into the call of slumber which comes as result of the sun beaming through the window, warming the sofa making the ideal location for an afternoon nap.

my sofa

The sun drenched couch

However, the longing of the mind to rest is being thwarted by the accelerative properties of the caffeine present within the large cup-o-joe I just ingested a few moments ago.  I am also unsure of what the next hour will bring for my weary mind and body, thus the trepidation of the forthcoming is keeping me from the prone position for now.  What might the next hour bring? you ask…

Well, it could mean another trek to the hospital with my son, Cole.  My poor son has suffered so much in these past 3 years, and yet he continues this route with a frequency too consistent too feel as if he has ever caught a real break.  And with him we ride, alongside his struggles, his sufferings, and his visits to the ER.  And as much as he wishes for himself that his cycle of pain, diagnostics, and medicinal ‘Russian Roulette’ would stop, he remains quite sensitive to the infliction his course imposes upon his family.  This is not a course for the faint of heart!  And though I personally feel we are in a Purgatory-like state, he feels as if this IS Hell.  I say, not quite Hell just yet because we are inching ever closer to a proper course of treatment for a decent quality of life.  I say, let us not give up our chores of dusting the furniture and vacuuming the rugs just yet.  This temporary place of torture, I believe is drawing close to its end; But we have been keeping house in this locale for so long now, I can understand why Cole is convinced it is Hell.

Now I must go and evaluate the condition of my son, who is in his room doing his best to distract his mind from the heaviness upon his body.  But before I take my leave from my free therapy of the day, I will properly give thanks to the Roman Catholic religion for providing me with the analogous place of the interim.  Without it, I just might forget where I am and get lost in the idea that we are here, in this moment, forever.

 

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