| Monday, August 16, 2021 | | Make Time for Joy | Can you believe it is already mid-August? July truthfully was a blur. Pete turned 90 and then almost immediately went back into Chesapeake Hospital. His stay this time was more complicated, and much longer, followed by more than two weeks in the Currituck Rehab nursing center in Barco. All in all, he was gone for over a month.
At first, I made real efforts to practice some self-care, which for me translates into time outside. I joined fellow photographers at dawn at Nags Head Pier for our first outing together since the pandemic began last year. I drove up after a hospital visit one evening to watch a crescent moon set over the Blue Point dock. I went over to Alligator River one more time and found a Mama bear with cubs. But as the days turned into weeks, and his health worsened before he slowly gained strength while in Barco, I found self-care harder, not easier. My camera stayed in its case. I had nothing to look for and not much to say.
Many of you know, and I have written about this many times, that I write nightly gratitude lists. At the end of each day, I make a list of ten things from that day’s lived experience I am grateful for. Some days are easier to chronicle than others. The practice changed my perspective during a difficult season of grief, so much so that I have kept it going for more than 17 years.
Some of you also know that I journal most mornings. I write three pages in a 9x12 notebook, stream of thought ramblings that swing from listing events of the prior day, to planning the day to come, to becoming centered enough to both pray and to listen for gentle answers and guidance.
Recently in my morning journaling time, which was spent mostly documenting the latest details of Pete’s health from the day before, I distinctly heard that “Joy” was a key missing ingredient in my day-to-day life. My first thought was to point out how I pay attention all day for moments to add to my gratitude list at night. But “joy” and “gratitude” are not the same thing. They may be cousins, but they are not twins. And the more I thought about joy, the more I realized how true this is. There is a scripture in Nehemiah I am especially fond of quoting, if only to myself: The Joy of the Lord is your Strength. (Capitalization, mine). And for “strength” I always think stamina, endurance, emotional and spiritual muscle power. With joy, I always thought, you can muscle and power and endure your way through anything. Turns out “strength” is better translated, place of refuge. Think, Oasis. Depending on your personality, think about a spa day or a fishing trip or a golf outing. THAT got me thinking…where are my places of refuge, now, while Pete is sick and most of my time and energy is spent focusing on that? I might have named an empty beach strand at sunrise, or the refuge near dusk, but without the chance right now to go to those places at those times…where shall I find oasis?
Then came specific guidance. Divide my little gratitude list notebook in half. On each left hand page write out my usual gratitude list. But on the right hand side, list out any experiences in the day when I was surprised by spontaneous joy. Track those. Pay attention. Especially consider how I might immerse in those experiences instead of turning away. I did as the guidance suggested. Those experiences of joy form the backbone of the visual offerings of this blog.
At first, joy seemed fleeting. I’d spot a Great Blue Heron on the way to the hospital, say. And for a moment, I would forget where I was going and why, caught up in the wonder and delight that such a sighting always brings. I’d come home, weary, and the kitties and doggies would be oh so glad to see me (read, hungry). Their happy wags and purrs brought joy, too (as well as a mention on the gratitude list as the outside kitties, some feral, have learned to get along). I realized eventually that in order to truly be a place of refuge, something I could count on, I needed joy I could relax into. I needed to not only be surprised by joy, but I needed to seek joy out. This is where the butterflies come in.
I love butterflies. (Ok, ok, I love everybody, but hear me out.) I love how beautiful they are. I especially love their fragility and that they manage to cram a full life into each, very different, life cycle chapter. Several I have watched this last month already have broken, frayed or missing wings, yet they still manage to fly, flutter, and flit from flower to flower, taking in all the sweetness they can, and in the case of females, seeking out the proper host plants to lay the eggs that will hatch into the next generation of caterpillars.
And speaking of caterpillars, I have been watching several of those munching on butterfly weed in the nearby Master Gardeners garden space by the Baum Center. The first one I spotted several days ago is now, as of my writing this, hanging upside down “by a thread” in the characteristic pose that precedes the chrysalis stage. All in all, I counted more than a dozen caterpillars in various stages of development! The garden will be awash with new butterflies soon.
My biggest butterfly surprise appeared right outside my front door. A huge black swallowtail and a yellow Eastern Tiger Swallowtail were flying around together. They would land next to one another on the bare soil by the sidewalk, fly off a little ways, and come back. I have seen them together a couple of times since. I researched, and learned that the yellow butterflies can have a black morph, but the markings did not seem quite right for that. Regardless, neither would be in its prime for long. But both were still making the most of the hours or days they had left to enjoy.
There, in fraying wings, and in hungry munching caterpillars, my life lessons came. Make time for Joy. Look for the gifts in each life stage. Be assured you will leave a strong and beautiful legacy.
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click for larger image | Sure felt good to share a sunrise with fellow Outer Banks photographers! This is Nags Head Pier, pre dawn. |
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click for larger image | A couple of us walked down to a nearby ocean outfall, which looks to me like steps going out into the Deep. |
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click for larger image | I have missed most activity at the Colington Creek Inn nest this summer. But here is a newly fledged baby! (Innkeepers named it Snoopy!) |
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posted by eturek at 9:20 PM |
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