vertigo, confusion, and living into the gift

The best laid plans - and all of that! I slept poorly last night for some reason so I was not ready to be awakened early to the sound of Dianne whispering: "I have vertigo so badly right now I can't even stand up!" Prying my eyes open in a confused act of self-will, I stumbled towards the medicine cabinet for the Dramamine. Our doc confirmed taking it every six hours as needed. Nearly 12 hours later some of the nausea is now under control, but the spinning room is still in full force whenever she sits upright.

I had planned on a day of quiet contemplation and writing. Clearly that was not to be: there were groceries to be purchased, library books to be returned, meds to be sorted out, vet appointments to be made, to say nothing of just helping my loved one up and down from our bed as the day required. As should be clear to me by now, some days simply cry out for us to hang loose in the saddle no matter what other plans might have been conjured. I appreciate the way the poet, James Crews, speaks to this reality in his "Winter Morning."

When I can no longer say thank you
for this new day and the waking into it,
for the cold scrape of the kitchen chair
and the ticking of the space heater glowing
orange as it warms the floor near my feet,
I know it is because I've been fooled again
by the selfish, unruly man who lives in me
and believes he deserves only safety
and comfort. But if I pause as I do now,
and watch the streetlights outside winking
off one by one like old men closing their
cloudy eyes, if I listen to my tired neighbors
slamming car doors hard against the morning
and see the steaming coffee in their mugs
kissing their chapped lips as they sip and
exhale each of their worries white into
the icy air around their faces—then I can
remember this one life is a gift each of us
was handed and told to open: Untie the bow
and tear off the paper, look inside
and be grateful for whatever you find
even if it is only the scent of a tangerine
that lingers on the fingers long after
you've finished eating it.

As I try to simply "come and see" wherever Jesus leads me this Advent, I am realizing yet again that being faithful is more about being willing and able to let go of my best laid plans and accept what is real than anything else. Faith is not so much about doctrine and ideas as it is taking stock of what is happening in real time right now and embracing it with love no matter whether I like it or not. This Advent seems to be yet another encounter with staying connected to reality no matter if it is hard,demanding, surprising, upsetting, or just boring. 

When I went flying on the back deck three weeks ago, legs up above my head for a few seconds before my backside crashed down against the wooden stairs, I thought: "Shit! I wasn't paying attention." I was hurrying through the motions of putting Lucie outside in the cold and rain rather than engaging the moment. And as I was sailing through the air, I thought: "Damn, whatever happens next is going to ugly and painful." And I was right. My prayer was simple. "O Lord, let me live through this." And I have to confess for a few seconds after the crash, I was not certain what state I was in. Looking up to see Lucie's face in mine did not help matters: was I here or somewhere beyond? I didn't know if I could move. Or if I was really hurt. Or if any one could hear me cry out for help. That is a sobering moment when you realize that you are flat on your back in the November darkness with only your neurotic dog looking back at you for comfort. Nobody else knows what has happened. Oh, in the blink of an eye...

So today, when our world was turned upside down by vertigo, I rejoiced as my mind flashed back to Crew's poem: this was a gift - a time to untie the bow and tear off the paper - in whatever way Di needed. Such is how I learn to live as a peace-maker in the spirit of Jesus.