This One Day In October

Today, on this one day in October, not including every other day, of the few people out of the whole world that I keep in contact with, involves this list of personal concerns

 
7^th round of chemo for a young wife and Mother
Pacemaker surgery for a 90 year old Dad

Hernia surgery
Recovery and healing from a wrist surgery, a shoulder surgery, and a gall bladder surgery
MRI
A casted foot awaiting surgery
Dialysis while hoping for a kidney transplant
Medical test diagnosis
College tests
Root canal
Husband and father in harm’s way in Afghanistan
2 Marines, 1 Navy, 2 Army, serving in various positions and world locations
Feverish child
Ended relationship
An older Mother with cancer
Special needs children
Prostate cancer
A full term pregnancy that will not result in a healthy baby and joy filled parents
The unexpected death of a 29 year old

 
…and this, only a partial list. There surely is much more that I am unaware of. Minds filled with worrisome, dread-full thoughts and hearts so broken it is hard to believe they will ever not be, desperate for things to be different, but things are not different.

On this one day in October there is no person anywhere exempt from the reality of a similar list. This is a typical day in the lives of us. Tomorrow’s circumstances may combine with different individuals, but it promises more of the same as today, and all of the previous days for all people, since the beginning of time.  

In the unwittingly prophetic words of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, “yes there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there’s still time to change the road you’re on”, the implication is that some semblance of control exists. I submit that the only control is in the choosing of the path. One leads to helpless hopelessness as life’s list of trouble’s overwhelms and buries under, even causing some to end what they perceive as too painful to continue. The other leads to selfless hopeful confidence that even with the worst possible most devastating outcome of any and every circumstance and situation, the steps on this path will ultimately take you where you want to go.

There are two paths, only two paths. They each lead to a distinctly different, completely incompatible destination. The journey looks much the same along the way regardless of the path chosen, but the distance between them grows wider, and wider still. The two paths will never intersect or merge into one.

There is this one day in October, the 19^th day of the 2012^th year. Savor trouble free moments. Offer no portion of the day to useless, wasteful, frivolous complaint. Many who inhabit this great globe will not get to even see this day in its entirety, this, their last day. This day is wrought with trouble and difficulty; and while we breathe, time to change the road we’re on.

I write these thoughts with an interruption of news about a crash in front of my workplace. Speed, recklessness, and downed live power lines result in a crash victim whose life just took an unexpected turn, in an instant, perhaps even a permanent one.

Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there may not be time to change the road you’re on.

P.J.

“Lord, make me to know my end,
And what is the measure of my days,
That I may know how frail I am.
Indeed, You have made my days as handbreadths,
And my age is as nothing before You;
Certainly every man at his best state is but vapor.
 Surely every man walks about like a shadow;
Surely they busy themselves in vain;

Psalm 39:4-6

Inside

Sitting in the driver’s seat of the guest shuttle, near the fountain end of a long red brick paved, Royal palm tree lined driveway drawing visitors to the entrance of the Breakers Hotel, I need no convincing that this is a pretty special place.

In no direction would a visitor’s eye meet with disappointment. Green thumbs operate various gadgets and machinery with unequaled expertise maintaining golf grasses, trees, flower beds pots and lined paths, regularly refreshing with seasonal plantings. They are botanical magicians.

Along the back of the hotel is the Atlantic Ocean. As far as the eye can see to the east, south and north, spellbound audiences are offered brilliant performances every second of every day for years and years, and years more.

Stepping past smiling greeters, guests are welcomed inside with an ever changing floral arrangement the size of a small car, comprised of roses, orchids, plants, branches and ornaments complimenting seasons and holidays.

Floors, ceilings, walls and furnishings reflect the opulence of the hotel’s place in history. She boasts loomed carpets from the only weaver in the world equipped to undertake and meet size requirements, an original tapestry, ten foot tall hand painted and heavily carved wood doors leading to ballrooms, and gold leaf and crystal chandeliers overhead. Attention is given to the minutest details.

In her kitchens, chefs’ butchers’ and bakers’ perfect the presentation of culinary masterpieces prepared for discriminating pampered pallets, served to them by a synchronized wait staff.

This is the Breakers that guests take pictures of and tell their friends about.

There is a Breakers that they don’t see, a Breakers that the Breakers goes to great lengths to conceal from its guests, a Breakers that would reveal what guests would rather not believe even exists.

The shiny surface masks what is under layers of camouflage. Huge plastic bins on wheels mounded with laundry, loading docks of dusty cardboard, wooden skids and crated shipments necessary for the implementing of unforgettable stays. Industrial sized buckets of dirty mop water, caution signs that warn of wet floors, and the sound of crashing glass into recycle containers releasing their trapped odor from stale liquor bottles each time the lids are lifted. In the underbelly, a trash dumpster’s brew ferments and pollutes the air.

The pretty outside hides the ugly within.

A tall man in a non-distinct dark suit passes in front of me as I await guests desiring a ride. The day’s steady breeze blew the back placket of his non-distinct dark suit revealing its vivid violet lining. I watched the placket hoping for another glimpse of violet until the dark suited man was out of sight. A few minutes later I spotted him again, this time from the opposite direction. I could see his unbuttoned non-distinct dark suit coat flap with his step and the breeze, to reveal an even larger expanse of that vibrant violet lining. It was as if the non-distinct dark suit held a secret it could no longer keep, purposely, gleefully letting it slip.

Sometimes it’s good to know what’s really inside, other times it’s better not to.

I don’t want to be all clean and coiffed on the outside, immediately attractive or impressive, but concealing what is ugly, stinking, rotten and repulsive underneath. I don’t want to be non-distinct, like a thousand others, or keep my inner potential for vibrancy hidden or suppressed, until or unless life’s winds rustle me to action.

I want to be like my birthday purse.

I needed to retire the purse I’d been carrying and did look for a replacement a time or two, but not very determinedly. When my birthday came, my daughter decided she wanted me to have that new purse, so we set out on the mission to find one. A couple caught my eye, but were not just right, and as I was about to abort the mission, I spotted one. It was the only one like it, and it was on sale. The first thing to attract me was the pink pierced trim that resembled eyelet lace. It had charm and uniqueness, interest and color. Upon further inspection, peeking inside, I was treated to a polk-a-dot lining and pink piping. There were pockets and zippered compartments, and sizing it up for the paraphernalia I would carry in it; I determined it to be a keeper. It was perfect.

I do the best I can with my outside, keeping it clean and presentable, for the most part. Continual maintenance is required and sometimes additional attention is necessary. And though the inside is not visible with eyes, still what’s in there leaks out, pours out, is squeezed out or freely offered, so that the secrets within are revealed. As much as I want, and try, to keep my inner dumpster emptied, it still fills up with what rots and putrefies. As much as I try to be vibrant and orderly, sometimes I am as broken glass and dirty mop water.

Everything that influences my eyes, ears and thoughts, matters. If I fill up on trash, the rank odors will seep out, if I input what is good, goodness flows back out. That which is inside either festers or flourishes.

I am obligated to seriously scrutinize what is allowed entry. It is a lifelong responsibility, and I am accountable when I fail to take out the trash.


I want to be encouraged

and stay positive
that is the way
I prefer to live

but sometimes
awful gets the best of me
I'm bombarded
with negativity

thoughts can be poison
consumed in doubt
when garbage goes in
guess what comes out?!

daily circumstances
often improve
when effort is put
toward a good attitude

such as it is
I continue to try
to wisely handle
what goes inside

check my bad thoughts
at the door
and not let them in
anymore
 
P.J.

…whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.

Philippians 4:8