clouds giving way to sun

“Will it rain? Or will it snow?” We Michiganders sing in a Dr. Seussian way. “Here in the Mitten, no one knows!”

The day before yesterday, Stephan and I started tending to what winter hath wrought to our back yard. A few fallen trees, thorny brambles, perennial plants needing to be cut back and weird little weeds already staking their turf in the yard. We happily trimmed, raking wet leaves, and cutting back what needed to go, exposing the defrosting ground.  The sun had finally shown up, warm breezes and with all of it, a green and growing kind of hope.

Until it snowed.

Then it stopped. Birds sang.

And then it snowed again. Birds stopped.

Repeat. All. Day. Long.

For me, there is something about the seasons that is amazingly regulating to my nervous system.  How I begin to yearn for change just about the time change arrives. How the rhythms of colors, tastes and smells, hibernations and celebrations remind me that whatever I find myself in, it is only a “season” and change is on its way.

Until one season busts in on another, and I remember the one constant thing in life—I am not in control.

You know what I am talking about. It’s a human dilemma, this idea of shaping your destiny, only to realize how little we shape. In the Bauman household, we’ve been learning that oh so well. 

Our oldest son, Joshua applied to eleven PhD programs, went through loads of interviews and is now on the precipice of making a decision which coast to land on for the next season of his life—Baltimore or Palo Alto?

Our youngest son, Caleb moved to Brooklyn and embarked on a season in professional freelance film and photography work, and is now ready for his next season—anywhere in this world!

Stephan and I began winter by celebrating 33 years of marriage and finished it by toasting each other for another year of lie.

Life… that word sounds so good. I am still here, and life is still a paradox, just like the seasons that break in on each other like surprise snowstorms in the beginning of spring. 

It has been good to practice using my brain cells again. As you know, thinking was not an easy process during treatment. I stepped back into an MA that I had put on hold, this one in Counseling Psychology. I genuinely wondered if I would be able to do it.  Many of you reached out with encouragement and hope—like sun in the middle of snow. So I took the plunge and so far, I’m sending my papers in on time!

Next week we will meet with my oncologist. It will be our first visit since jettisoning my hormone therapy. After trying three separate treatments, I gave up. I couldn’t stomach the constant nerve pain, join aches and sleeplessness. Oh, and I really couldn’t string together more than two thoughts at a time! Instead, I taking the natural path: serious work on changing some of my body chemistry, blood work and bone analysis every three months, and keeping a serious daily health record of potential symptoms.  What this means for this season practically is I am now seeing what 5 am life looks like at my local YMCA five days a week. The best thing about this season is I LOVE our local Y…the people, the place and the hope.

So dear ones, how about you? Are there surprises for you in this season? 

“Even though you cannot change the events of your story,” one of my professors said, “you can change the way you experience your story.”  How often I wipe away tears when I look up to see the clouds giving way to the sun.

Whatever comes, you dear Beloveds are my strength for the climb.

You are remembered. You are loved.