A Knight's Journey

A Thanksgiving Past.  Pictured Jeff Knight and Johnny Givens So often in our lives we become thankful for something “after the fact”.  After something is gone—or the crisis is over, then we realize its importance in our lives. I am still learning this lesson in all the changes of our lives. The future looms large and often dark while the past although fading, feels more familiar and we cling to that familiarity. There are no surprises there. No unknowns. We can look back and see all the things we should have been more grateful for—mentally promising ourselves that we will be much more thankful in the future. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, it came at the most inopportune time in my life. If it had to be part of my story, a few years earlier or later would have been better. You know, so that I would have all the necessary strength needed for the arduous journey, both mentally and physically. Oh, but where would all my life lessons be if it happened in a way I could orchestrate?

I know I looked ridiculous.  I was walking partially bent over—like a little arthritic elderly lady.  I couldn’t help it.  I had a heavy backpack and we were walking uphill.  We had missed the Saturday vegetable market because we had a kid’s crusade activity in a church near San José, Costa Rica, so we walked a few miles to the one that was for that Sunday.  It was after church.  It was hot.  And like every street we walked in Costa Rica, it was uphill.  Or so it seemed when walking.   I was out of breath.   Jeff had his own backpack full that he was carrying.  Each week, generally always on Saturday, we walked to the Feria Verde (super large farmers market-or fair).  I had never before seen anything like this.  It was amazing.  Overwhelming at first until we learned which vegetable producers had the best prices and best vegetables.     Walking in such a manner, my focus was always down –on the sidewalk—mostly because my load was so heavy—I could hardly straighten all the way up.  But—

I've been more absent than present from the social scene.  The online social scene as well as the "real-life" social scene.   I was super weary of reading some of the things we have allowed ourselves (our nation and the world) to fall prey to.  So rather than staying angry at the ridiculousness of so much of it, I bowed out. In life reflection and examination (what I think writers constantly do), I learned something about myself:  When things get to be too much for me, I bow out.   It was during a movie I came to this realization.  Jeff and I were watching an old western movie one night and I didn't like where it was headed.  There was about to be too much drama for me to handle.  I can't remember what movie--but the same thing happens when Marshall Dillon or Festus gets into a pickle (a difficult situation).  Anyway, I got up pretending to just go to the kitchen sink to put our empty plates and then moseyed on back to get my shower.  I was done with the movie.  

It was over a year and a half ago.  I saw her as she carried the weighty wooden box to the lobby and then sat down on the waiting bench, box in her lap, face in her hands.  She wept.  I could see her shoulders shaking.  The mother instinct in me wanted to run down the hall and hold her while she cried...but this was not my place and I had no idea what I could and couldn't do in this new place of "ministry" .  Besides, it was a private moment and she had no idea someone saw her... But Someone always sees us. Inside the box was the dust particles of a life lived by someone she cherished.  He was someone she had dreamt of spending her life with.   But sometimes the dream changes. After gaining her composure, she got up and left the building, carrying the wooden box as if it held the most fragile of treasures, after all, it did.  Her dreams. In every person's lifespan there are countless experiences as we move from one goal or dream to the next.  Sometimes the change is

This morning when I opened the front door- I noticed something I've noticed before; tiny grains of sand were sprinkled under the edge of the chair like crumbs dropped from a cookie.   I knew it was sand and not cookie crumbs because I had given the floor a dust mopping yesterday.  But to see them now in the bright light of the sun irritated me because I knew it meant there was more sweeping and such to be done this morning.  I don't like messiness--but it happens daily.  To everyone. There are two times on a sunny day when you can see all the flaws in my cleaning ability and in the floors we walk on--1) when the front door is open and the sun is at just the right point in the sky to showcase the floor, and 2) when the back door is open as the sun is going down behind the trees.  The sun has to be at particular places in the sky in order to pinpoint the flaws, but every time I notice it- I kind of cringe on the inside.  More cleaning. It reminded me of the spiritual work in me t