Letting Go of Fear

Sunrise, Annapurna, Nepal

   In the Christian world, we have just come through the forty days of Lent and have now entered the liturgical season of Easter.  During Lent, many people give something up as a way to participate in Christ's selfless love.  Like, say, chocolate.  This year, I decided to give up fear.
    Why fear?  Why not something tangible, like cake?  Or candy?  Or wine?  Or, as one dear friend suggested, plastic?
    I gave up fear (as best I could) because I see that as being a major contributor to not moving forward in my personal growth.  Fear keeps us from doing so many things.  If we step out of our comfort zone and venture into new territory, we can experience anxiety...but also freedom.
    A few months ago, I went on a three-week journey through India and Nepal, looking at culture, spirituality, and education.  My husband and I did this on our own, with help from our friends in these two countries who found drivers and English-speaking guides in the various Indian cities we visited.  When we reached Nepal, we went trekking with the help of a small trekking company that my husband had found three years ago.  I was frankly afraid of stepping out into such a huge adventure without the shepherding of a tour group.  My husband had worked internationally for 33 years, and has always travelled more or less on his own.  I've travelled with him quite a bit, but this new proposed  adventure caused me to experience real fear.
    Perhaps it's my age (63), or the belief that I have had an interesting life, and therefore don't expect to have a boring death...but I decided to bite the bullet and step out in faith, to leaving fear behind, and to explore these two countries with him.  I had to let go of my fears.  These fears included, but were not limited to:

Mount Dhaulagiri, Nepal

* Heights (We trekked in the Annapurna Circuit in the Himalayas of Nepal)
* Crowds (India, and its magnificent monuments such as the Taj Mahal, is very crowded)
* The unknown (We stayed in a different place each night, sometimes without a lot of pre-planning)
*  Poor sanitation (Don't get me started on pit toilets, or the fact that you have to carry your own toilet paper with you everywhere)
*  Terrorism (Sad, but true:  when we came home, we saw the movie "Hotel Mumbai."  We had had lunch in that very hotel in which India's 2008 terror attacks began.  It could happen again.  In fact, as soon as we came home from our trip, the horrific Easter terror attacks in Sri Lanka occurred.

The Taj Hotel and Gate of India, Mumbai

   Giving up fear doesn't mean giving up caution or safety.  It means giving up the notion that we can actually control our destiny, that we can somehow will away any random evil that might wait for us in the shadows of the world.  It means living life to the fullest, in spite of the fact that our lives could end at any given moment.
   When we went to Israel in 2015, friends and family feared for our safety.  If you think about it, we would be far more likely to be shot in a shopping mall, theatre, house of worship, or elementary school in the U.S. than we would be in any of the "third world" (also known as the "two-thirds world") countries.

   Perhaps it's my age, the fact that I've had a wonderful life, and the fact that my children are grown and are happy that give me the courage to give up fear.  On our recent trek in the Himalayas, I faced several situations that initially scared me, usually involving great heights and narrow trails.  I faced my fear, and realized that the likelihood of actually falling was pretty slim.  A song kept running through my head as we climbed higher and higher:  the blockbuster hit "Shallows," sung by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper from "A Star is Born."  The refrain says, "We're out of the shallows now."  I take that to mean that we (or I) have moved beyond the shallow waters of day-to-day living, and are now ready to move into the deeper waters of living fully into the rest of our lives.  Step out into the waters of life.  Leave fear on the shoreline.  Be careful, yes.  Don't take unnecessary risks, to be sure.  But above all, don't limit your life to what is too safe.  Let go of fear...and embrace fulfillment.

Step out...and experience life

Amer Fort, India

What is it About December?

   It's been a very long time since I've posted to this blog.  Now, as 2018 draws to a close, I feel compelled to write again.  Tonight I learned that I have lost yet another friend, and again in December.
   This is a month that is known for darkness.  Today is the Winter Solstice, the darkest and shortest day of the year.  Many celebrations surround the concept of darkness and light during this twelfth and final month of our calendar year:  Hannukah, Advent, Christmas, Solstice, New Year's Eve.  Since the dawn of time, humankind has taken a moment during this wintry month to pause and reflect on life and death.
   For me, each year that passes carries a little more sadness during this month.  Both of my parents died in December, and several friends died, as well.  I was born on December 22nd, and have always loved being born at such an energy-infused time of year.  For beneath the frozen ground, seeds are sleeping...new life will come in the spring, and this long period of sleep is necessary for their growth. Each year that passes in this decade of my 60s brings more loss.  The deaths of friends and family must, by natural law, increase as I age, until one day I, too, will pass away and become memory.
Is it morbid to focus on death at a time when most of the Christian world is focusing on birth?  No, because both are intimately entwined.  The Wise Men brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh - foreshadowing the death and burial of Jesus Christ.  These were the precious gifts they laid at the manger in Bethlehem.  And even as Jesus was born under the brilliance of a Star, Herod ordered the death of all Jewish baby boys under the age of two...just in case.  Birth.  Death.  Entwined.
   It's certainly much less dramatic for me.  My mother told me long ago that I was born on the coldest day of the year.  Perhaps that's why I've always loved the cold!  As a child, I slept in an unheated summer porch.  I remember putting my little hands on the chimney that passed from the kitchen below through my little room to the roof, feeling the warmth of it.  I was never cold.  In fact, since our grandmother lived with us, the house downstairs was kept uncomfortably warm.  To this day I gravitate to the cooler places in our house.
   Today I lost another friend.  Just yesterday she was commenting on my photograph of dawn in Ontario, and hours later, she died of a heart attack - no previous warning.  We must all be prepared.  Who knows who will go next?  In my family, the women live to be quite old.  My mother was 96.  Her aunt died at 104.  I may well live to be well over 100.
   My motto is, live each day as if it is your last, but plan as though you will live forever.
Now, as the longest night of the year is in progress, my wish for all of you, dear readers, is that you reflect upon your lives, and realize that you, too, could disappear into the night without warning.  Yes, we celebrate the return of the light beginning tomorrow (my birthday), but we know deep in our hearts that the great wheel of time will continue to roll, and bring around December after December.                What do we bring to the manger?  Does the Star shine down upon us, too?  What is it about December?

The Long, Long Journey

   This is perhaps the most difficult blog post I will have written to date. During the last eight years, my daughter Jessica and her husband Bryce have tried every possible method to have a child. They suffered through every combination of IVF, even trying donor eggs and donor sperm. Nothing worked. There were a few hopeful moments, but they always ended in tragedy. There were painful injections, painful procedures, a miscarriage...Jess was finally actually pregnant, but it ended in an ectopic pregnancy.
    As the years ticked by, their hopes and dreams seemed dimmer and dimmer. I wept with them, sent flowers, prayed, and did everything in my power to make the universe welcoming for that infant grand baby that just never came. Finally, two years ago, Jess and Bryce decided to adopt. This was great news! She had a shower at school (she's a teacher.) She had a family -and -friends shower. The happy couple outfitted a nursery fit for a prince or a princess, with every doodad and invention that had ever been created to welcome a newborn into the family. And then they waited. And they waited. And they waited. They made a book about themselves as required by the adoption agency that was so well done. Jessica is a writer, and her well-honed skills came to her aid. But still they waited. And they waited some more. 
   Every now and then we would get an update that there was almost a match…They had 6 opportunities. Once, they were actually chosen, but the expectant mother ultimately chose to parent. The waiting couple weren’t getting any younger, and expectant moms seemed to want to choose couples who already have another child. My daughter and son-in-law continued to hope…again, they waited. And waited. Finally, the constant state of readiness and disappointment came to a head. There was too much physical and emotional stress involved in the constant waiting. They decided to stop the adoption search.
    Now, they are beginning to heal. Now, they are celebrating who they are, not who they wanted to be. They have emptied the beautifully-appointed nursery, and donated all of their equipment, clothing, and furniture to a shelter for young mothers in crisis. Jess has carefully re-created the little empty nursery into a beautiful writer's nook, a lovely office that is calm and welcoming. There may never have been a baby in that room, but I know for sure that many great ideas, stories, and poems will be born in that space. I am so in awe of Jess and Bryce. They have had such strength throughout their eight years of waiting...Jess's mother-in-law and I have ridden that roller coaster with them for all these years, eagerly awaiting that miraculous moment when our first grand baby would come into our children's lives. Now we can all move on. We can celebrate the children that we have, the adults they have become, and the tremendous talents and abilities they bring to the world, just the two of them. May we all have the grace to accept what we cannot change as well as these two amazing people.
    I have struggled to accept this loss the same year that I lost my brother, and even my cat - all within a few months. I'm 61 now, hardly a spring chicken. I, too, must focus on what I have - who I have - and not dwell on the infant grandchild who never arrived, the brother I lost too soon to cancer, and even the beloved feline companion who left us so abruptly. I am a person of faith. I don't have answers as to why all of this loss happened, but I do know that it is all part of life. In previous generations, when tragedy struck, people didn't ask "why" as we do today. More often, they asked "how." How do we carry on? How do we pick up and move forward in spite of our sorrow? That is the question. It is my belief that we do not walk this long, long journey alone. The Almighty sits with us in the silence, in the sorrow, in the slow realization that life will not happen as we assumed it would. God is not Santa Claus, filling our stockings with all of our desired gifts. However, prayer can help us focus...on strength, on compassion, on wisdom, and on finding contentment with who we are, who we love, and the life we've been privileged to live. I must dry my tears and move forward, celebrating the family that I do have - a terrific husband, two wonderful step-grandsons, two fabulous daughters, and the two sons-in-law who are so very perfect for my girls. I can and will continue this journey, with all of its highs and lows - grateful for what - and who - I have.

   To visit Jessica's blog, My Path to Mommyhood,  click on this link:
My Path to Mommyhood