October 13 is the birthday of two of the most important people in my life – my little brother Anthony Niedzielski and my closest friend, Jane Hill. Twenty years ago leukemia tried to take Anthony. He fought long and hard against devastating medical setbacks. God’s grace, coupled with the blessing of a pediatric chemotherapy protocol aimed to cure, saved his life. I woke up today thanking God for Anthony’s life. Today is what our father would classify as a “glorious day.” Autumn is here with all of its splendid foliage color. My backyard garden is still overflowing with zinnias so I happily set out with my scissors, Winston on my heels, to cut flowers for Jane. Unlike the typical pink bouquet, today I noticed a profusion of rich, deep colors that scream fall – red, sunshine yellow, shades of orange. I cut, arranged, then cut more and more flowers. To quote my dad again, “If a little is good, a lot is better, and too much is just right.” As I left home on foot to deliver the vase, I felt the warmth of the sun and reflected on the immense blessing of having a close friend. I thanked God for putting Jane in my life.
Later, my schedule afforded me the opportunity to take a short, solo walk into my favorite nearby park around the water – no music, no friends, simply alone with my own thoughts. A breeze stirred the air and yellow leaves swirled around me catching rays of sunlight as they fell. I felt alive and experienced a sense of true peace and happiness until I came upon the giant recycling truck clamoring with machinery noise on the street ahead of me. I bemoaned my selection of route, then told myself I would pass the truck in a minute. Once beyond the racket, I walked past a jack hammer!! A crew was ripping out chunks of concrete and in addition to a terrible amount of noise from a backhoe, concrete dust particles filled the air. Again, I spurred myself on to walk faster to move past the unpleasant scene. I decided I was not going to let all the NOISE ruin my pretty walk. It was a beautiful fall day. I would enjoy the perfect weather. I would admire pumpkins and mums arranged on front porches. I would savor precious minutes in the outdoors without letting construction equipment ruin the moment.
That’s when I was struck by the fact that the hiccups I encountered two blocks from home are like what we face in life. Even the best of times are not totally rosy. Often, we must strive to find the good, which can feel frustrating or even exhausting. I shared the story of Evelyn’s accident with a new group of women Friday and one of them asked me a follow up question about how I was able to find the joy in the midst of the misery that was our reality in the days after Evelyn’s injury. I explained that we are only in control of our response to adversity. I could choose to focus on my child’s immense head pain or I could choose to focus on the fact that her carotid artery had not been severed when the limb struck her. I could curse her ghastly head wound, shaved and covered in stiches from lacerations and neurosurgery, or I could praise God for access to a pediatric trauma hospital that could promptly manage her urgent medical needs. We have a choice when it comes to where we focus our thoughts. Sometimes our perspective is all we may control.
So, today I kept walking. I reached the park and looped the water. I smiled at three mamas with babes in arms spaced out on blankets under a gorgeous tree and held back tears at the warp speed with which my eldest daughter has reached the age of 17 and senior year. I admired the fire-orange maple leaves, fountains, and reflections on the water. I thanked God for a strong body that allows me to walk, then prayed for a friend suffering after back surgery. I also decided to choose a new route home to avoid the ruckus. I needed a detour. Isn’t that the way it often goes? We want to go directly from A to B, but the path, whether speaking of healing from devastating grief or facing the valleys of struggling with mental illness, is not linear. God’s way is not always our way. We rage against his timing, yet, onward we move. As I approached my house at the end of my walk, I had to shake my head when noise from a yard crew’s mowers again ended the tranquility. I then saw a good man I’ve known for many years who I admire and respect. I asked after his wife, as they lost a 14-year-old son in a car accident two years ago. He expressed that she is up and down, nothing will be normal again after the grave loss. He said, “Step by step we go.” His truth rang in my heart as it simultaneously broke for him all over again. We all have to keep walking. I firmly believe we have the ability to decide our focus. Hope on!