Dawn

It’s dark outside, just before 5am. I’ve been trying to sleep for the past hour but the steroids from yesterday’s infusion are making that challenging. I have now officially begun phase 2 of chemo, which entail weekly infusions — and if all goes well with my ability to tolerate the frequency and amount, I will, God willing, be ringing that bell marking the conclusion of chemo the week of Yom Kippur.

Each person who makes her or his way through life’s challenges and joys finds language that resonates, language that hopefully helps hold the daily work of healing; the daily work of finding his or her compass. For me, the word “journey” is resonant again and again for physical and spiritual realities, and perhaps most powerfully for what I am experiencing these days (I admit, it’s easy to overuse the word “journey” in writing and speaking but I still love it!).

This Shabbat we conclude the Book of Numbers with the double parashiot, Mattot-Masei.  The last chapter of Numbers begins with a retelling of the journey from Egypt to the banks of the Jordan River.  The Israelites stand ready to enter into the Land of Israel, but before they do, they take a moment to remember from where they have come, step by step. 42 stops in total.

I am sure it could be monotonous in the desert. Just another day to pitch the tent. Another day of body aches. Just another sky full of stars. Another sunrise. Or…

There is a community surrounding me–we can help pitch our tents together! This body is weary–and I don’t want to fight against the weariness. I feel all these physical sensations, as my breath is restored each morning. Thank God for the ground that meets my feet as I set out, resting as I can, for that is part of the sacred work of healing. Amidst the uncertainties of night’s descent, the stars and the emerging dawn bring the flicker of hope.

It’s hard to stop and notice, as routines can cover our eyes.  It’s hard to open our hearts to daily wonders when our spirits are broken, our hearts embittered. It’s hard to feel gratitude for the simplicity of a steaming cup of tea in our hand when the journey feels endless and the worries a heavy burden.

It is hard, and yet, the sun rises each day and Shabbat returns with whispers of a wisdom that has carried us for 42 stops and beyond. We can find our compass while we journey forth, for it has always been there in our hands if we but pause long and deep enough to see it. We are invited to remove our hands before our eyes and look out, and look within. 

Pat Schneider captures this beautifully in the poem, The Patience of Ordinary Things:

It is a kind of love, is it not?

How the cup holds the tea,

How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,

How the floor received the bottom of shoes

Or toes. How soles of feet know

Where they’re supposed to be.

I’ve been thinking about the patience

Of ordinary things,

how clothes

Wait respectfully in closets

And soap dries quietly in the dish,

And towels drink the wet

From the skin of the back.

And the lovely repetition of stairs.

And what is more generous than a window?

Thank you for journeying with me, friends. To many more stops together, from dawn to dusk, discovering the extraordinary in the ordinary miracles of today.