Day 5 of my 40 day renewal.

Well the better part of a week has come and gone. Early evening Labor Day I drove to the Columbia River. A county park, nearly deserted.  except for a silent fisherman, gave access to the banks of the River, moving, flowing, free to the Ocean. The broad expanse of sky seemed to stretch forever as unfettered views revealed vistas of mountains, hills, and river.

I love the shores of that River.  I have spent hours on its banks, enjoying the healing sound of its gentle waves lapping the shores; drinking in the fresh, sea-tinged air as waves of wind wash over me. That day was a special day. An awareness that the River had moved its course and now several miles of walking had been released. Barefoot I trudged along the sandy shores. Here and there; a small shell catching my attention; pumice, rough, round whitened orbs lying scattered along the banks.

Weathered, old pilings stretched out into the depths of the River, reminiscent of times gone by when perhaps fishing boats docked to unload their bounty. Across the River, the rich, greenness of forested hills comforted my soul. I love trees. I am often so thankful that I can still see them. Having lost sight in one eye through a detached retina I value my sight knowing it is a gift that can be lost.

My grandson, on his own silent trek brought me his find. A very old, very thick metal mail slot from a door. The metal, blue-green with age looked as if it had been through a fire, twisted, slightly melted at one edge. It appealed to me, a vestige from times past, a tribute to a time when solid was a measure of something’s worth. I took it to bring home and mount on a weathered board as a memorial to letters sent, mailed received in an unknown home, from unknown hands.

   We continued our hike down the sands of the River’s edge, now across the waters tall white cliffs of sand beckoned me and I longed suddenly for a boat to take me across the River to build a fire on the isolated shores, cooking rich, fragrant campers stew on its coals.

The skies began their shadowed dance of nightfall and I realized we needed to leave before darkness overtook us and found us walking silent through the night. The peace of those moments calmed me and permeated my soul with the awareness of God’s presence. Turning my face to the sky I sent my prayers upward with a sense of communion that I was heard and acknowledged.

We traced our steps back, my barefoot prints and his larger boy/man’s shoe-clad footprints. It had been a good beginning of our week, a time to relax, refresh and ready for the days ahead.  How fortunate I am that I am able to do this. What wealth I have of beauty so near. I am blessed.

The week? Well that has flown by. Three days for me of 11 hour days of work. Being with people, talking to people, page upon page of reports, case notes, treatment plans, ideas. I tried to be a listener this week, less of a problem solver, more of someone people could talk to, share their frustrations with and just be comfortable with. I tried to be authentic without losing my awareness that wisdom dictates you don’t share every thought you have.

Noon times found me walking, exploring the city that surrounds my job. It is a rich freedom of sorts to walk, look and explore. If I want to go into a store I do. If I want to ask questions, I do. It is a rich bounty of things, people and places with which I am unfamiliar. The homeless people, of which there are many, journey with me also. Some with suitcases, black plastic bags, shopping carts. Others, just doing their own thing; sitting, walking, talking. I see them and part of me cries out with an awareness of how little I am doing to help them. Caution born out of experience dictates, I walk on, pretending not to see their faces, rough-worn with lines of desperation, need and despair.

I’ve learned  which streets to stay clear of if I don’t want the visual assault of human desperate need. I don’t feel called to them as my mission, but still guilt tugs at my heart with the call to do something. Fleetingly I entertain the thought of volunteering at the homeless shelter but I let the thought go knowing I can only stretch myself so thin until overwork will break me and I will join the ranks of the needy.

And so I journey. My attempts have been to pack more healthy food so the eleven hour days don’t find me starving, tired and making poor food choices. I feel again like continuing my journey towards fit and made several commitments this week to help myself on that journey.

 1. Pack more food to take with me. Peaches, apples, carrots, cheese, lettuce etc. Enough so I can eat something every two hours or so.

2. I went and found the new location of the Weight Watchers meeting and met the new leader. I miss my last leader so much but not going has derailed my commitment to get fit. Without the accountability and weekly meetings I overeat, under-exercise and slip back into old habits.

3. I made a commitment to join and attend a working women’s support group. They have a weekly devotional, enjoy a cup of coffee or healthy smoothie, and work on their own commitment to fit.

4. Decided to  begin to start an older singles activity group at my church. Get a planning committee together, set some goals for activities and move ahead.

I think it was Dylan Thomas that said, “I will not go gentle into that good night.” For me that is how I feel. With God’s strength, with the prayers of friends and family supporting me, I will continue to be an active participant in life. With God’s grace, it will be a life worth living.

Promise

“You will show me the path of life. In your presence is fullness of joy. In your right hand are pleasures forever more.” Psalms 16:11

Blessing

May your week be blessed with the knowledge that God cares about you. And may you be filled with the comfort of knowing when you turn to Him; He will calm your every storm and be with you through your valleys, (even if they are valleys of weeping). Take care until next time.