From the book "Looking for Alaska,"
by John Green
"Everything that comes together falls apart." Everything… The chair I am sitting on. It was built, and so it will fall apart. I'm going to fall apart. And you're going to fall apart. The cells and organs and systems that make you-they came together, grew together, and so must fall apart."
"The Buddha said that suffering was caused by desire, and that cessation of desire meant cessation of suffering. When you stop wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did."
John Green reads like a modern day Judy Blume to me. His novels are the movie equivalent of Sixteen Candles, or The Breakfast Club, back in my own formative years. I'm finding his Young Adult novels to be highly engaging and can see why they are earning national Book Honors galore- they take me right back to those years.
Even with Rick leaving for Idaho after being gone for 4 days, it seems earlier this week, that it will be an uneventful week.
When the dull ache from the suspected bulging disc in my back begins to work overtime, it tells me we're in for more snow, and I'm not in for much Christmas decorating.
So I started my week by just caving to it- spending time reading, addressing Christmas cards, and resting.
Then plans to spend time with a friend fall through for Wednesday. Rick gets half way to Idaho and the roads are impassable and he has to turn around half-way there, and drive all the way home.
I discover the new lump on my chest on Thursday. Actually, it seems like the old one- newly asserting itself. Here we go- again.
So I call Dr. Panwalkar.
And he's gone- doing outreach at another hospital hours away.
I feel myself falling. Apart.
So I fall. Slowly- then all at once.
I am quiet. Reflective. Sorrowful. Prayerful.
Wanting to hear from Him.
Wanting to just- hear.
"When you stop wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did."
I fall asleep meditating on these words.
Friday, I hear from Dr. P's nurse.
I will see him Tuesday. We'll go over everything then.
As I'm speaking with her, the doorbell rings.
Moments later I open a box addressed to me. I'm flooded with emotion when I see the beautiful words.
I'm seeing. I'm hearing.
Thank you Eileen! Your timing is impeccable and you've touched me so.
But that's not all. Just look at this. Another box addressed to me...
And as I loosen the tape on the heavy box, my eyes see all of this. Holy abundance! Nancy- you've touched me so! The boys were so excited when they arrived home from school and dove in instantly. Thank you!
I've barely closed the door when the doorbell rings again. My sweet friend Nichole is standing there with this- homemade goodies from her church group. Her beautiful daughter pictured in the card.
"Go tell it on the mountain…" echoes through my head.
I see. I hear.