I have a reminder forever attached to my body. A sticky-note, if you will, to remind me of something or things very important. Things I don’t ever want to forget. I see it multiple times a day. I re-dress it every four days. I clothe myself in particular ways so as to live most comfortably with it. I find myself all too often, worrying about what will happen if something goes wrong with it. I combat these worries with a very real and true gratitude for it.
I have another reminder on my body, right next to the sticky note, but this one is more like a tattoo. A permanent mark down the middle of my torso, much like a jagged exclamation point which indeed exclaims a whole story. One line, expressing in perfect poetic distillation, a defining story which is still unfolding.
What is it these reminders say to me?
*That I am loved. Never before had I such a huge impression of being loved by God and others.
*That I am never alone. In the most dire of circumstances, I always have His presence and care.
*That I will always have what I need. Perhaps not what I want. But always what I need.
*That I am forever changed. For having seen His hand at work in my body and in my life.
Very few days go by that I don’t think about the story my sticky note and tattoo remind me of. But on certain days, I call them Remembering Days, it all comes rushing back, every detail, the good, the bad and the ugly. It is all part of a wonderful story, a pilgrimage. One which I’m grateful I survived. And one which I’m glad, in many ways, is over.
Yet the effects linger. The struggle now is how to live in light of all that has changed. The change feels more in the subterranean plates, rather than in the visibleness of my life. The change is imperceptible to others I’m sure, and perhaps evident only to me. For it is only myself, and my husband, who ever see my sticky note and tattoo.
But that’s what makes it precious. It was a gift to me. It is something I get to touch and care for on an ongoing basis as one would with the gift of a plant or a talent. It would not be good to forget about taking care of my sticky note. Nor would it be good to forget about the story, the words represented by that exclamation point on my belly. I will go on remembering. Perhaps that is how I’m to live now…just remembering all the love, the faithfulness, the provision granted me during that time. It is always with me. Every day. Permanent reminders of enduring truths.
In the last ten months since my third and final surgery, I haven’t felt very clear about what I want to do here on my blog. Indeed I’ve waffled back and forth between shutting it down altogether, just keeping a log of things I make, or writing thoughts on life and creativity as it seems my poor brain keeps pouring out. I’ve felt a little stymied by the thought that surely my musings cannot be beneficial to others. I typically do write them down in my journal, but the flow of getting them onto this blog , as I used to do in years past, has lagged. A very sweet and dear comment from a long-time reader on my last post has encouraged my lagging heart to be more brave and courageous in sharing. Thank you. Here is one place where I’ll remember. Here I will recall and remind myself and any who would like to read, all that I need to move forward in living, in creating, in seeing and making beauty. I welcome your presence here. Feel free to comment. Let’s remind each other of all that we need to forge the path ahead of us on our pilgrimage.