Tag: perseverance
When Life is Hard
When life is hard,
and each day a challenge,
look for the soft places
beneath and below.
Uncover what is there
and be comforted.
When each day is an effort,
relax your muscles
and decide on purpose
to seek what frees.
Do more of that.
When the weight on your shoulders
is slowing you down,
go slow.
It is okay to rest.
Share your load and
ask for help.
Listen to the whispers of God –
for you are being directed to learn
something important.
Perhaps this is the time you finally understand that
joy can be found
in the pain
when you change your thinking.
Everyone gets lessons along the way…
Now is your time
to blossom in winter.
So, take comfort in the crocus
which perseveres through
hard frozen ground
to rise and shine,
transcending into Spring.
For you are the crocus.
Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019
I Will Be Your Anchor
When you feel overwhelmed by
the rush of cold water around you,
I will be your anchor.
When the darkness below tries
to pull you under,
I will be your anchor.
When the winds catch your sail,
and threaten to toss you
to a scary destination,
I will be your anchor,
keeping you attached –
tethered to the strength
I have given you.
Life will push you about,
bring changes and dangers.
No one can avoid this,
for each of us has our own
path of peril
through which to pass
and learn from the passing.
None of this is to be taken personally – except
God’s promises to be in the muck with us.
We are like trees with roots that run deep,
roots that hold us up in the storms.
We fall over when the roots
are allowed to decay.
God says, Stay tethered to me.
I will be your anchor, your root.
Hang on to me –
and never let go.
Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018
Count It All Joy
He laid in his hospital bed
set up next to his wife’s bed –
his hands contracted
and useless,
his body dependent
on the help of others –
just to move at all,
or eat, or even
brush his teeth.
This bed has been his dwelling place
for over five years,
his disease shrinking and stiffening his body,
rendering his muscles
unworkable –
keeping him confined,
and stuck.
He is one of my favorite patients.
His eyes always sparkle,
his mind is unfailingly engaged,
his words ever generous.
“I am a lucky guy.”
This is the song he sings
no matter what pain may be present
or loss on the forefront.
“I have no complaints.”
Before him,
on his bookcase,
are about 50 journal books
he has filled
with reflections and illustrations
of his weekly walks in the woods
as he observed and gloried
in the wonders of nature.
“Nature used to be my religion.
And then I found God.”
This was life pre-diagnosis.
When I look at him,
a prisoner in his bed and so small,
I am grateful
he had a former life
of movement and joy
in Nature and beyond this room.
“I am a lucky guy,”
he states again and again,
and I marvel at
how he glows.
He has an understanding
that I hope is within reach for me.
He knows
that everyone has “something”
and this is his.
“The way I figure it,” he states,
“God put me here for a reason.
And when anyone comes to see me,
I hope I can be a light for them.
I hope I can make them happy.”
He radiates
effortlessly and profoundly
and I cannot help
but be changed.
He shows me the way
to what is real.
I begin to understand
the gift of joy
in all circumstances
and the suffering that comes
with resisting
what lies before us.
As I say goodbye,
He says,
“I hope I will see you again.”
I smile.
Oh, you will.
You will.
Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018
Becoming and Beholding 