Resilience?
Just before sunset, when
backlit trees beckon, Dreamer and I
amble down the hill. Thirty-four years
we have jogged, snow-shoed or skied
this sole-beaten path through the pines,
once a vast orchard—long gone
now, save for the random
orphan over a century old: gnarled,
unruly, runed with lichen
and raveled with living,
near-spent, as we are. But
what’s this, at our feet?
Limerick green, the size of a golf ball,
it gleams in the rough grass—
a fruit, fallen
from branches we’ve never seen bloom. How
can this be? Apples,
apples adorn every crooked limb!
***
“BEARING FRUIT in the twilight of life”: the phrase steals into my mind. Here is a displaced tree we gave up on, thriving with renewed energy and endurance. Despite encroaching woods. And weeds. Despite no pruning or fertilization. I squeeze Dreamer’s hand.
Metaphorically, this could be us . . .
Lately, we feel under siege. Dreamer’s braving cognitive impairment. I’ve been waylaid three weeks, first, by a wily kidney stone and multiple ER all-nighters, then diagnosed with Hydronephrosis. One ER doctor said, “It’s like passing a kidney stone. Every day. Without the stone.”
Also, our beloved home needs radical mold remediation. And then, restoration. We had to move out. Wildly conflicting data makes the way forward hard to discern.
Toss in a pet emergency, someone hacking our credit card, and Dreamer and I dumpstering 2/3 of our possessions because of possible contamination . . .
It’s a lot.
Back in January, reeling from Dreamer’s diagnosis, I sensed God preparing me for things to come by leveraging my love for fierce crossword puzzles.
“Take one square at a time. Fill in what you can. Work around the blanks. Answers will come.”
In other words, keep a quiet heart. Wait, with passionate patience. Trust. Practice ardent anticipation.
MEANWHILE, can we coax out resilience, surrender our assumptions about precious people and places and things that make us feel secure?
Sooner and sometimes, later, we recognize the voice of God-with-us, within us . . . spelling out the next step.
Imagine collective resilience, in prayer. We’ve all weathered a siege or two: escalating stress, relentless change, misfortune. Even now, you or someone you cherish may feel utterly beset.
May God’s love,
flawlessly faithful (and,
honestly, at times
enigmatic), direct our paths,
see us through the siege,
reveal glints of wonder
unfurling, like a seed, undercover.
“YOU HAVE TO STAND STILL so that the enchantment of the world can step out of its shyness,” author Sherry Ning writes. “Beauty is a momentary happening of a glint of truth surfacing in the material world . . . a moment of something divine making itself perceivable to human eyes.”
A gift. Without fanfare. Like one little apple bidding us, “Look up.”
Any tips on resilience you’re willing to share?
You might also enjoy this 2021 post: Resilience
Photo by Marina Grynykha on Unsplash
“It’s a lot”
to say the least
“In other words, keep a quiet heart.
Wait, with passionate patience.
Trust. Practice ardent anticipation.”
Lamentations 3:25-26 comes to mind
“the voice of God-with-us, within us . . . spelling out the next step.”
In the moment
Moments
The “Now’s” of scripture.
“Look up”
Genesis 13:13 comes to mind
I needed for these scripture to come to mind this early Canadian morning
Thank you for pointing there
And once again for letting us in.
Yes, “We’ve all weathered a siege or two”
Rick, please forgive my belated response. I’m coming off an intense week and . . . a blessed week away by the sea, for our anniversary—with no online access.
I just finished reading Lamentations! Your mention of it chimes with my recent quiet times.
Was it Genesis 13:13? Not sure how to connect it . . .
I know you’ve weathered many a siege from the consistent wisdom and prayerful compassion you share!
Oops
And the Lord said to Abram, after Lot had separated from him: “Lift your eyes now and look from the place where you are—northward, southward, eastward, and westward;
13:14
Ahhh, that makes more sense. I should have kept reading! Thanks, Rick. Love that image of lifting our gaze amid the compass rose . . .
That little apple…reminds me of ‘an apple a day.’ The Doctor is In ♥
For Dreamer, for you, for all the besieged. Grateful for His faithful ministrations.
Dear Nancy, yes and amen: “The Doctor is In” for “all the besieged.” So many people I know and love feel beset. I am grateful tonight for your phrase “faithful ministrations” and for your faith and your good wishes and prayers. Thank you for lifting my gaze. 🙂 <3
Thank you so much for writing and sharing this with us. My heart goes out to you two. I’ve reread the post a few times. <3 I am praying the prayer poem you included. Thank you for including that parenthetical!
May God’s love,
flawlessly faithful (and,
honestly, at times
enigmatic), direct our paths,
see us through the siege,
reveal glints of wonder
unfurling, like a seed, undercover.
Dear Bethany, here I am, wakeful at midnight. What an extraordinary gift to have you pray those words on our behalf. Feeling my shoulders lower, my jaw loosening, my fingers slowing . . .
O, how my soul is eased . . .
Thank you for your beautiful word pictures, Laurie! As I journey through my own challenges, you have reminded me to have hope and resiliency! Praying for you two!
Oh, I am grateful you found beauty here. Thank you for letting me know. 🙂 It has been hard to even think about writing during these long days.
May resilient hope sing to you in the night, underscore your days, carry you onward, step by step . . .
I just found your reply and am once again encouraged by your word pictures. Thank you for being such a blessing to so many! I am saving your words to my phone to remind me to hope.
So glad you two are back in your home and praying as you two continue to navigate your days ahead…
Oh, thank you so much, Linda, for your continued encouragement! It’s harder and harder to find the energy to write these days, and knowing it lands well with readers and makes a difference is a gift, indeed.
And thank you for rejoicing with us in God restoring us to our digs!!
Wishing you Hope as a tangible anchor (and resting place!) for your soul . . .
You are so very welcome and thank you!
❤️
Oh, friend. Goodness. You have both been on my mind. Any tips for resilience? Our family has been going through a siege as well with loved ones and I am weekly reminded of God’s unending well of love and His power to accomplish His purposes–that we might know Him better.
The only tip I have is to continue to yield to His loving hand.
And this, ““Take one square at a time. Fill in what you can. Work around the blanks. Answers will come.” Well said!
I read a phrase in a Barclay’s commentary a while back, from the Latin, “solvitar ambulando,’ ‘the thing will solve itself as you go on.” A balm of good news on the daily when I tend to grasp too many ‘what if’s’ from the future.
Dear Jody, I’m so sorry to hear of the siege!
And at the same time, thirstily wanting to tiptoe up to the “well of love” you’re finding, weekly.
And to yield, as you’re learning to . . .
“Solvitar ambulando.” Was it Machado who wrote “The way is made by walking”?
I love what you say in closing, about “the balm of good news” available to us — even when we “tend to grasp too many ‘what if’s’ from the future.”
Thanks for re-heartening me for the journey <3
You never cease to amaze. Even the proverbial Job would’ve cracked by now.
When I’m riding my bike on a quiet country road, sometimes I let my head drop so I only see a few feet ahead, and the occasional obstacle or bump appears to remind me to “look up!”
Your bumps are far more serious and important- but still a reminder to “look up” as you say. Stay strong, bodayouse!
Oh, I’ve cracked plenty, believe me! Fissures and fists in my pockets, fleeting tantrums, tears — the works. On a day not so long ago, in the throes of escalating kidney pain, I told my pastor I felt utterly leveled.
Your bike riding example is perfect. I so miss riding. I know just what you mean about watching the few feet ahead . . . one of my go-to hacks for the l-o-n-g, steep hill.
And then, the looking up, the scenery, changed.
Pedal on. That’s what I hear in my head as I type.
Thanks, friend.
I’d say you’re demonstrating resilience already, Laurie! You’re pressing on with rejuvenating habits like a walk through the woods. You’re keeping your eyes open for uplifting discoveries like that old apple tree. You’re determined to bear fruit in the twilight of life. You’re taking note of the lessons that come your way–even through crossword puzzles. You’re reaffirming your faith in the One who is with you and within you, spelling out your next step. You are an example of strength and perseverance under fire, my friend, especially considering all that has been happening in your lives the last eight months. I pray that relief from adversity will come SOON.
Dear Nancy, thank you for speaking back to me what you see unfolding, how it is quietly adding up. You hold up a mirror, speak with assurance and love.
Feels like I’m sitting up straighter, reading your words.
I hadn’t counted up the months. Eight. Almost full-term!?!
What’s being born, I wonder . . .
Sometimes, the protracted chaos seems deafening. Other times, blinding. You reflect back to me the small acts of perseverance amounting to something more.
Thank you for your love and prayers.
Oh Laurie & Dreamer, I’m so very sorry for all you are enduring, resiliently, I might add. What a beautiful gift of hope, a glimmer of emerald green–fruit, a juicy round shimmering globe–when you thought it was impossible for any to grow.
I love these verses from Psalm 92: “The righteous man will flourish like the palm tree. He will grow like a cedar in Lebanon. Planted in the house of the Lord, he will flourish in the courts of our God. He will still yield fruit in old age; he shall be full of sap and very green. . . .” I had that verse piped onto an all-white cake in pale green frosting, and a palm tree elegantly piped on top as well. It was for my “Sixty-five and Gonna Thrive” b/day bash. I’m beyond that age now, have had constant vertigo for just over five years, and hardly feel as if I’m thriving (and presently, don’t feel much like celebrating).
Resiliency? That’s a tough one when we don’t feel especially resilient, huh, because of natural vintaging effects, caring for a dear, loved one whose thinking is a bit scrambled, our own health compromised, and in my case, some difficult family issues w/ which we grapple, trying to help those we love remain resilient, themselves. The solution? I don’t have easy answers. I’m searching for my own.
But being a logophile like you, I love to look at word meanings. Here is resiliency: the power or ability of a material to return to its original form, position, etc., after being bent, compressed, or stretched; elasticity. The ability of a person to adjust to or recover readily from illness, adversity, major life changes, etc.; buoyancy.” And one goes on to read a synonym: flexible.
I think back to that Ps. 92 verse. Why the palm tree, Lord? Ah, they are especially flexible. And flexibility is a key to resilience–the ability to weather storms–even hurricanes. Bear with a botanical lesson:
“Palm trees are known for their ability to bend, especially in strong winds. Their flexibility is a key adaptation that allows them to withstand [Resiliency!!] hurricanes and other high-wind conditions. This bending doesn’t necessarily mean they’re weak; rather, it’s a survival mechanism. Palm trees have a trunk composed of tough, fibrous tissue, which gives them a degree of flexibility. They also tend to be relatively wet on the inside, further contributing to their ability to bend. The fronds (leaves) of palm trees are designed to reduce wind resistance. They are often fan-like or feather-like, and their flexible bases allow them to bend significantly in the wind, minimizing the force exerted on the trunk. This flexibility is an adaptation that allows palm trees to withstand strong winds, including those associated with hurricanes and tropical storms, which can topple other trees. Some palm trees grow on unstable ground, and their trunks can curve as they adjust to the shifting terrain, further demonstrating their flexibility. After a storm, while other trees might be down or damaged, palm trees often remain standing, a testament to their resilient structure.”
This blogpost also gives a great explanation, complete with life lessons!
https://atlantapalms.com/blogs/blog/why-palms-are-strong?srsltid=AfmBOopml7izpvpoI368sL0Cy0yrJwExyqlE9wSiaYRX7bG9hCdXlNll
The way I see it in my own life, to stay resilient is to stay rooted, best I can, in the Lord and His Word. I try to stay flexible by attempting to accept what comes day by day, with no rigid expectation of healing–though I’d love it!!–and with this palm picture in mind, maybe see myself as a living example of a palm tree swaying from side to side when I walk! I’m being flexible, huh?–a living palm-tree metaphor. I do ask the Lord to help me to expect fruit that only He can produce (in whatever form that may take), and to realize that He promises to do this as I stay rooted in Him and His Word.
In this regard, I love these passages: Ps. 1:1-3 “How blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked, nor stand in the path of sinners, nor sit in the seat of scoffers! But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in His law he meditates day and night. He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither; and in whatever he does, he prospers.”
And this: Jeremiah 17:7-3 ““Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord. For he will be like a tree planted by the water, that extends its roots by a stream and will not fear when the heat comes; But its leaves will be green, and it will not be anxious in a year of drought nor cease to yield fruit.”
As you’re finding personally (I’m more sorry than I can say, dear Laurie!!), I am finding my season really arduous of mind, body, and spirit. But in reading your beautiful post about unexpected beauty and fruit despite circumstances that would have indicated otherwise, you give me hope. Thank you!!! Hope itself I think is a form of resiliency. I am not sure it can be mustered, but it can be shared.
I think this is the most rambling post I’ve ever made here, and I hope you can make sense of it!!!
XO
Lynn
Dear Lynn, what a compelling image the palm tree offers — the lithe and rough-barked richness of it further expanded with scripture and your knowledge of fauna, plus, your personal experience.
And a cake!
Relentless vertigo. For five years! Oh, my friend, bedrock faith upholds your words and your story. Your testament.
“To recover readily” and “buoyancy” and “elasticity,” “rooted” and “flexible” — all these words urge me onward toward a more yielded, attentive walk with God and with my beloved.
“To expect the fruit that only He can produce.” Yes, I am “making sense of it.” Thank you, thank you, for letting it all flow.
May grace refresh you, waft a cooling, tropical breeze your way, alongside the tang of salt, the sweetness of dates, coconuts, pineapples . . .
Precious Laurie, I knew you would respond, because you always do. I’ve just not had a chance to get back. So kind of you, considering all you and Dreamer endure day in, day out. YOU give *me* hope and beauty and camaraderie and empathy. I love you, beautiful wordsinger! Keep piping your tunes of resiliency, buoyancy, and hope. And to think I know a real-live composer (I can sing, but I’ve not a composing bone in my body). But like you, I pray that my words sing and wing their way into hearts. Thank you again for helping me find some purpose in what I’m personally enduring, and imagining I sway to a tropical sea breeze. I”ve never been to a tropical state or island. But it sounds lovely. And yes there is always salt with the sweet–a lot like life.
Trust me, your words sing, my friend. The word psalmist comes to mind . . .
I am wishing for you a spiritual oasis today, palm trees, breezes, citrus tang and salt air, all the goodness your heart can hold! Amen amen
Love the phrase: Passionate patience–resonate greatly!! Hugs to you and Dreamer!
Dear Lael, can’t help thinking there’s a story behind that “resonant” response . . .
May grace meet you at every turn.
From both of us, thank you for those hugs!!
Sometimes I think resiliency finds me rather than the other way around. I hear it like a triangle in the midst of a symphony. A distinctive note that comes out of nowhere. It has the same aroma as gratefulness, but it’s more like an elixir that heals me.
Every time I reread your comment I almost hear that high, crystalline, fleeting “ting,” rising above the sound of the instruments. That this hearing carries a fragrance so interior in the listener as to form itself into an outer expression — as well as a sense of taste — gathers my somewhat battered senses and realigns them with goodness. Thank you, dear friend.
Thanks Laurie. I’m breathing in your words. I’m in Oconomowoc moving mom from independent living to “memory care light.” (Carol is being a great help.) We’ve had more than one late blooming apple apple appear.
Dearest Lynn, such a sad and taxing endeavor for body/mind/spirit. Necessary and maybe clarifying too, as to what is essential?
Still. So many hard hard choices.
And . . . memories! I hope there has been laughter. Wish I could help. I am so glad to hear of the late blooming apples! May there be many more . . .
Beautiful words and thoughts.’Apples adorn every crooked limb’. Oh yes, bearing fruit into (and through) old age with little or no effort it seems – it’s just a glimmer of who we are. Fruit- bearers, even when our branches are old and battered. ‘Bearing fruit in the twilight of life’. Amen.
Strength to you both, with glimmers and shimmers appearing when and where you least expect them. ✨🙏
I’m so glad that line spoke to you, Vanessa, and I’m grateful to read your affirmation of age carrying goodness and light, no matter the circumstances. Thank you for your beautiful prayer!
Lovely and tender, Laurie.
Dear L.L., thank you for being here, at this time, with these words. How often you speak into my life. So grateful.