As a certified Passion Test facilitator, of course I continue to tell people the joy that following their passions will bring into their lives. I believe that with my whole heart, and do all I can to keep following my own passions, in any ways that I can. Sometimes they are tiny, baby steps that are taken towards getting that little bit closer to what I'm passionate about. Other times they are leaps that throw me into the center of the joy that is my passion. What I've loved watching over the past several weeks is seeing my husband immersed in the joy of his passion. Previous posts have introduced you to the little cabin on the hill. It is truly his little piece of heaven, as it slowly comes together into what he has imagined it would be from the beginning. 
Over the past couple of weeks, he's spent countless hours up there. The deck is built, the woodstove and Cheney are in place, and this week the door and the window went in. So far the entire project has cost about $800, most of that being on the deck, and I will admit, it's a nicer deck than I have off the front door at home. But the joy he is getting from the time, view and peace that he is finding on this project. Priceless. My cocoon of joy and contentment is right here at home. I can spend days on end in the comfort of this home I've created and never feel the need to venture further, but I finally put on my boots the other day to go and see what it is he's accomplished. I know that in the sharing of it is more pleasure than he will ever admit to. I ended up arriving at the cabin just about sunset, which is way too early these days, but it helps knowing that in a few short weeks our days will start to lengthen again. 
It had been an unseasonably warm day when I walked up there. He'd rushed home from helping a neighbor to try and make the best of the warm day by washing the old, recycled windows and doors he'd installed. The plan wasn't to spend a lot of time up there, so there was no fire going in the woodstove when I arrived. That didn't matter, the sun through the windows had it nicely warmed up anyhow. As much as I tease him about this project, I am so glad that he's given himself permission to pursue it. To see the joy and happiness that he derives from being at this place is so great, knowing that he is living out one of his dreams. Something I think he's been afraid to give himself permission to do for much of his life. So tonight, as the evening draws near, we will be Celyn away together. Not to any exotic, warm destination, nor on any of the big adventures that we tell ourselves we'll take one of these fine days. Instead we're going to watch the sun set over the valley that we love so dearly. We'll be sitting on those worn out kitchen chairs that furnish the space at this point, around the crackling fire that he's undoubtedly had going since he headed up there himself earlier today. We will toast the day that we've had the pleasure of experiencing, and grateful for it, ask that we be given one more tomorrow. It's taken a lot of living to realize that these little moments really are the big ones. My hope for you is that you'll take a little time to think about what it is that you too are passionate about, and give yourself permission to pursue it in any way you can. Moving towards the things we love and dream about doesn't mean walking away from the lives we have now. It means finding ways in the everyday to ensure that your passion and joy is honored, celebrated and acknowledged in whatever way you can, trusting that when the time is right you'll be able to do it in the way you imagine is perfect for you. Just enjoy the journey. And if you think it would help to find a quiet, rustic little building to sit by a fire in and watch the sun set with a glass of wine...you know where to find us. Come join us at any time!
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 A new dawn, a new day, a new chance to begin again. Today, we are waiting for results from Cecil's follow up CT scan. Fingers are crossed that the news will be good, and that we can continue our dreams of Celyn Away and enjoying life, but anyone who's ever walked through the world of cancer knows, the waiting can be the worst. We are hopeful of course, and things looked good after the initial surgery and healing, but there are still those funny little things that the body continues to do that makes you just stop and take notice and to wonder. The little things that cause the big worries to keep raising their nasty heads. I decided to share my writing from the Portage General Hospital waiting room in July when Cecil was undergoing his initial surgery. Its a good reminder to me at this moment, of continuing to look for the gift, as we wait for the results. July 2014: Its been a long time since I've spent time in one of these rooms...and I can't say that I missed it at all. We've managed four years without major health risks or the loss of someone close to our hearts...but ten days ago that changed once again on us. The results of the colonoscopy came back with the biopsy test showing the growth that was found was malignant. Now the questions continue to circle, as we sit waiting for the completion of the surgery that will tell us whether the growth is contained, whether their will be life changing adjustments because of the surgery and of course the big question...whether we are in for a bigger battle than we are aware of at this moment. Cecil is in surgery as I write this. He was scared going in, we all are. The morning has been slow, the weeks ahead will be as well I fear, with the healing and the waiting to learn where things are at and what is next on our agenda. I keep trying to ask myself that if everything happens for me, not to me...what is the gift in this...for me...for us? My heart tells me that there is one, maybe many...but it has taken much deep thinking and quietly asking my heart. Here are some answers that have come to me:
My dear friend Bert LeSage once told me "It's hard to hear, but the truth is cancer gives us a gift...the gift of time, to say all that is in our hearts." I keep hearing his voice and seeing his kind, brown eyes, knowing that he knew more than I did at that time. It was the day after Greg, my first husband, had died of the same disease. In the 13 years since his passing, I've had time to get to know that Bert was right. Living through my own Mom's brief battle with pancreatic cancer in 2010 I held that thought and embraced every moment, shared every thought that needed to be shared, said every word of love that need to be spoken. In the end, with both of them, there was nothing left unsaid or undone...there was loss, but there was peace as well. That peace of heart and mind means so much. I will work towards that same sense of peace now, regardless of whether we are up against a long, hard battle...or whether this has just been a reminder to practice all that I preach and try to teach...to live in the moment, to appreciate everything that we have right now...to love with all my heart. Lesson learned, reminder acknowledged, gift accepted. |
Living our Dreams while Health allowsCancer came knocking on our door again in July of 2014. It's visited before, through different times and people, myself included. This time it dropped by to remind us that life is short and precious. It came to remind us that in our 50s, things can and likely will change quickly, so start doing what you've been promising yourself you would do! Archives
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