5 Years and Still Ticking!

August 10, 2008 marks the 5 year anniversary of my brain bleed/hemorrhage/episode. There is a laundry list of emotions: awe, gratitude, confoundment, amazed, thrilled, humbled, appreciative, proud, and even more grateful.
I will drive by my former house on Maroa tomorrow, see my old neighbors, go to St. Agnes, walk to the CICU, drive over to San Joaquin Rehab, and I can guarantee tears, memories, emotion. I have to stack those Ebenezars, and I have to return to the places and be grateful in person.
I will think of Matthew and Gordon, and the fear they must have had in finding me and calling 911, I will think of Sue, leaving her family at the table in Los Angeles and driving to Fresno, I will think of Jim, and his vigilence, generosity and presence, Kurt/H. and the 1x1 crew, Felicia and the roses, those who prayed, called, visited, stood vigil, cried, and endured the long stay in CICU and San Joaquin, and the rehab at home. For keeping my job, for paying me, for driving me to doctors, clinics, rehab, drugstore and grocery runs, walks around the block-kicking the golden leaves and loving the little Terrace neighborhood, listening to me cry, rant, over-talk, and keeping me sane. Allowing me to drivel, concoct worst-case scenarios, miss my mom and grandneices--
Thank you notes don't seem to cut it. Trying to articulate the gratitude never measures up to the depth of giving.
So, I say thank you with my work: doing what I can with what I know I can do, with what I can handle.
In Jeremiah 29:11, I like that it begins with, "The Lord says:--and then goes on to remind the prophet that God knows the plans he has for him, plans for good, for a FUTURE, for success, and not for "folly." In essence, God knows your creative potential. God knows mine, and, he knew it on Aug. 10 2003, and he knows it 5 years later. Plans for good.
I have to believe, that God is conspiring for my good, for my success, for my future.
Deepened faith, a more clear sober view of my weakness(S), greater tenacity, a tad more patience, and a genuine broken heart: all are the byproducts of my brain bleed; not just the medications, the diet, the exercise, the limited periphery, the driving hesitancy-those may be the evidences of how much God loves me--enough to remind me that "I once was blind, but, now I see," and that I'm not DONE yet.
Now, I wake up, and God and I have this discussion: am I going to be ALIVE today? Yes, I am, and I'm going to have WORK to do today, work that will be honest, and necessary, and fulfilling, and transforming, and good. And, God says, Get up and GO.
Kevin, Lisa, Dieter, Harry, Debbie: you all know EXACTLY how I feel--this needs no translation. As fellow travelers on the road, and as members of the "fellowship of the scar," on my 5 year anniversary, I pray that you will be encouraged and HOPEfull for your own anniversary of living, too. Surely, God is conspiring for your success, too.
With Great Hope,
Don

You can take your Body on vacation, but your mind may need to get away--

I've just returned from 8 days of being away from home, vacation, and although I didn't venture that far away, just 2 hours north of San Francisco, I attempted to go far away from my every day routine. I tried to stay off of the laptop, to not be tied to reading emails, doing work, thinking about consulting, teaching, training, writing, thinking--but, it was difficult. I realized that it was more difficult than ever to turn off the switch, and just relax. I took my bike, and took 2 books, Frances May's "A Year in the World" and David Sedaris' "When you are Engulfed in Flames." They were for my mental distraction, as was my fully-loaded iPod. But, for the first 2-3 days, distractions didn't seem to do the trick.
I was riding my bike through Armstrong Woods State Park, one of the gems of all parks, whisking through the giant redwoods, and finding a secluded picnic table, where I sat and read=and listened to the birds, and the sound of children laughing, and told myself to be quiet, to rest, to relax, to let it all go.
I reread the words of Jesus, "come to me, all who are heavy burdened, and rest, for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light," still, nothing. I read it again, I prayed it, I thought it, I visualized it, I prayed it some more. I wanted to dump all of my thoughts in the river--and, then, I knew that what I needed to do was to stop trying SO hard to relax, and well, just relax.
So, I started.
A walk by the river, a stroll by the little shops, morning coffee on the deck watching the canoes, kayaks, gulls and hummingbirds. A massage (an amazing massage--with special emphasis on my shoulders and neck=-Thanks, Masada!) and, music, and laughter, and sketching in my new sketchbook.
I relaxed. I could not fix anything from there, could not fix any relationships, or damaged friendships, or pay big bills, or find new work, or restore or preserve anything. All I could do, and, all I should do, was rest. I read my books, listened to the music, breathed in the river and ocean air. Slept as much as I wanted, ate well, drank well, had conversations with old friends, laughed.
I looked at Margaret's garden, and thought of my own garden: and, then I rested knowing that I could return to my own plot of beauty on the earth, to my own garden, planted with my own hands. I dreamed of planting, and digging, and touching the soil. I thought about the smell of my land, the pleasure of watering. The feel of the blistering sun. Maybe I wasn't relaxing there, because I'm not relaxing here: in my own space. I could rest better at home, and, then, on the 8th day, we pulled in front of the house, and, I felt my body loosen, and my heart beat slowed, and then, I relaxed.