and a poem

Happy Saturday indeed! I can't tell you how much I appreciate these good days, currently so few and far between. Last night I tossed and turned, cursing yeast die-off symptoms until 3:00 am. And I was freaking tired already. My only comforts were back rubs from Johnny, and our cat Harley who nestled in the crook of my right arm, put his head on my shoulder, and purred soft & low. Almost as if he knew I was having a crappy time of it. Those comforts were sweet, but after my husband dozed off and Harley left to do his nocturnal feline thang, I looked at the ceiling, cried quietly, and asked again, "Why? Why this way?"

Yet today, I woke up to sunshine and 55 degree weather. I watched Harley do silly things, like sit in our empty bathtub and observe my application of eye drops (it can't be that fascinating). I drank Bolero tea - an extra large mugful. I listened to good music, namely old Daniel Lanois records. I sang. I laughed. Both are still surprising to hear during this sick phase in my life. I resumed my feisty medication, ready to slay yeast - one sucker at at time.

Thank God for all of this. And, the comforting sight of my husband mowing our lawn. Spreading fertilizer on weary patches of grass. Back inside, killing an iffy-looking spider (at my request) crawling above the mantel. More than those tasks, though - Johnny is a very good man. Really, the best of men. He makes me extremely proud and grateful.

.... I caught sight of our now green tree in the backyard; new pink flowers on land below. Our bottlebrush tree in the front yard, on fire with fuchsia. Like a light bulb, I remembered we have ground beef/veggie stir fry leftovers in the fridge! Did I mention that Johnny used sesame oil and basil, among other spices? Well, he did, and the dish reminds me so much of this amazing Thai place we stalked while dating - Thai Racha. Oh my Lord, it was good. So is Johnny's stir fry - I'm pretty excited it's a repeat meal today. Plus, I like the nostalgia. When you finally date the right person, it's really fun (and not agony).

I'm also pondering this:

"But He had sent a man before them: even Joseph, who was sold to be a bond-servant; whose feet they hurt in the stocks: the iron entered into his soul. Until the time came that his cause was known: the word of the Lord tried him."
[Psalm 105:17-19]

Joseph's entire saga is riveting and encouraging, if you ask me. I'm fairly certain that he handled his dire situation better than I'm handling mine. And in comparison, mine might be a cake walk. Even still, that phrase has always struck me - "the iron entered into his soul." It resonates with me right now, as my physical limitations feel like a literal prison. I have the same sense that Joseph did - God will rescue us, release us. Joseph must have stared at the prison walls most nights. Likewise, I stare at the ceiling and feel that iron in my soul. A dead weight. A numbing. Complete and utter confusion. Almost giving up, if not for days like today when God breathes hope into my lungs. The Holy Ghost seems to hover above the incense smoke. Odd hope and certainty are my thoughts; despair is hard to recall.

This reminded me of a poem our friend Allison left in the comments here a few days ago. I think she's figured out how poetry speaks to me:

"Funny" by Anna Kamienska

What's it like to be human
asked the bird

I don't know really
It's to be a prisoner in your own skin
but crave infinity
to be captive to a crumb of time
but reach for eternity
to be hopelessly uncertain
and a fool of hope....


* - [I love to feel that foolish]

** - [Is it just me, or does Katie Herzig's song "Fools Gold" always cheer you up? I dare you to try and not sing along.]