Verb: to cherish a desire with anticipation
Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.
Hope brings significance to each and every moment we encounter. Without it . . . there’s no meaning to anything under the sun.
I know it has been a while since my last post. Truthfully, this month has been a challenge—physically, mentally and spiritually. Early in the month, I started my new chemo regimen: dose-dense AC infusions—every other week. I didn’t realize how emotionally bankrupt I would soon become. I guess as my blood counts drop, zapping my energy level like a nuclear missile—my spirit seems to wither too, much like the beautiful, luxurious flower arrangement my nieces sent my way recently, one I’ve been desperate to keep alive.
Spring. It’s funny the little things a girl thinks about as Spring emerges: manis, pedis, new open-toed sassy stilettos . . . perhaps a new outfit or two. I covet my yearnings for these things that are simply not to be for me this year. As I try desperately to hide my hideous nails in public, each one purple and black, lifting from chemo-related blood and infection . . . and my equally hideous, neuropathy-plagued feet, no longer acceptable for open-toed sassy shoes or pedis—I indeed feel deprived and sad. Today, Lance, my 7-year old, in all his sweet honesty, pointed out the other sad fact that my eyebrows are disappearing, the final hair follicles to die. The simple fact is: it’s hard for me to have a Spring in my step or outlook these days.
Regardless of my thoughts filled with vain minutiae, Spring continues to unfold and as the crocuses begin to blossom in my yard, it’s impossible not to hear the heralding trumpet of new life spring forth. With it comes a glimmer of excitement—a hope that day by day the season will continue to blossom, inspiring beauty in its warm welcome.
These days, my life is filled with urgent intention. In fact, I find myself anxious and depressed when I’m too fatigued to move because I’m afraid I’m going to miss a moment, a great memory I can’t afford to lose . . . a picture that can never be recaptured. Reflection has become part of my season of change. Like Spring’s weather, this season of my life is a gentle reminder that I need to be cognizant of the rebirth taking place all around me—those blossoms that not only take shape in my yard, but in my relationships . . . in my children, in myself. Just as I need Faith to hold me together, I need hope to push me forward.
Making it a mission to treat hope as a verb, I choose to actively cherish my desires for the future with anticipation. Spring is here. It’s the start—a rebirth from seeds of hope. I must cherish this moment. This place. This time. It knows no bounds . . . you can never overstay Hope’s welcome.