Indiana Jones: my role model

These past days...

My days are like the work of any Egyptian archaeologist: layers of sand, dirt, disappointment, echoes of the past, and the occasional treasure. Certain things never change and have become my ghostly companions; fatigue, pain, weakness, and depression--the constant presence of MS. Under that is the bedrock: the deep and abiding presence of my faith. Layered over these are the mix of the day to dayness of my world and times of simple pleasures that are treasured.
Thinking through this past week, a series of snapshots play through my thoughts:

• spending the evening with dear friends who are about to welcome their new baby into the world.
• taking my favorite five year old to her first theater movie. The film reflected in her wide eyes as she came up the dark hallway and first spied the giant images projected on the screen. The play of emotions as she watched the story unfold. And, her crawling into my lap during the scary part while we whispered about the 'good guys always winning.'
• saying farewell to one of my spiritual mentors who died Saturday after an aggressive illness. He lived a life full of family, caring for others, and a dependence on his Creator. I hope to live my life in the same way.
• feeling the nerve pain in my occipital nerve spike. Laying in bed and trying to fight the fear that it will return as before.
• picking flowers in my garden: in shades of purple; lavender and two different rhododendrons. The clematis vine is reaching up and over the trellis while my two new roses are gaining a foothold. The first buds on my other roses are starting to open.
• fighting the loneliness and boredom of the hours I spend alone. As I've heard, "the mind is a dangerous neighborhood, don't go there alone." Sometimes it feels like I am waging a battle with the pain, fatigue, loss, and loneliness. It isn't as simple as having the fortitude to do a thing--it is the betrayal of a body and mind that cannot do a thing.
• cheering on an old friend who is close to landing a fabulous job. Feeling an odd mix of pride in her accomplishment (she is one of the smartest and most accomplished people I know) and envy stemming from the loss of my own profession.
• going to church with my son: singing my favorite hymn and communing with God.

My days aren't simply up or down, good or bad, well or unwell; they are a patchwork of moments, feelings, and interactions. Things that sustain me and things I endure. And, like the man digging in the sand searching for ancient treasure, I am committed to this life of sorting and sifting through the days and treasuring the best times.