Last evening, after dark, I decided to forget about the article I had just read about the "Red Devil chemo" I would be getting the next morning. It would have scared the socks off of me, except that I was just wearing sandals without socks in this Arizona heat!
And I decided to go for a walk, and Jonathan decided to go with me, to walk up to the pool and dabble a bit.
Me--I wondered what night creatures we might see or hear, to distract me from my worries about the little red devil about to get me tomorrow! :)
We
were walking around the corner up the hill when we heard a strange
noise. It sounded like a bird screeching--or was it squawking?--and it
was very nearby.
In the darkness, against lights in the distance, I was able to make out the silouette of a bird on the street sign post.
"It's an owl!" Jonathan decided.
Suddenly,
a big something came floating and flapping through the air, appearing
for just a bit and then disappearing up into the fronds of one of the
palm trees.
"The mama owl!" I guessed.
We watched, entranced, for the longest time, as baby owl sat there on the sign, screeching and squawking for its mommy. Or was it scared about learning to fly?
"The mama must be teaching it to fly," I whispered to Jonathan. That was all we could figure out. The little owlet flapped up to one of the palms, and the mama flapped to yet another one, silently sitting and waiting in the darkness while her baby owlet screeched pathetically.
Squawk, squawk, screech, screech! In the dark Arizona evening, we watched and waited and listened, and managed to get a couple night shots on Jonathan's phone.
And I was thinking.
I was thinking rather hard about the baby owlet screeching and squawking about having to learn to do something scary.
Such as fly--way up high there in the palm fronds fifty feet up in the air.
But what about me, screeching and squawking in my mind about doing this scary thing tomorrow--this heading into chemo treatment?
It's true, the reason I am here is that it's not the typical chemo treatment. It's Insulin Potentiated Therapy and only a fraction of the usual dose is necessary. So it wasn't nearly as scary as the typical protocol. But I had no idea how my body would react, or especially how I would feel during the whole blood sugar-lowering process.
Peace had been coming to me, however, as I journaled and blogged and lifted my heart to Jesus and breathed and thought.
And took time to simply "not think," as the clinic recommends.
Taking moments to focus on breathing and simply "not think" helps to reset a brain that so often thinks negative thoughts.
We find this does work. Jonathan breathed deeply no more than three or four times last night and promptly fell asleep.
And I have been experiencing little miracles mentally and emotionally as I practice this simple little technique that help me to relax, let go of worries or negative thoughts, and open myself to positive, healing thoughts.
We love to visit the pool after dark when no one is around, watch the water splashing into the blue lights, and sit there dabbling in the water. With my port, I can't get in the water, but I can dabble my feet.
The mother owl swooped suddenly overhead, as if she was keeping a close eye on those humans that had lit up her safe darkness in the palm trees, and then a bat swooped low over the blue water, and swooped again.
It was so quiet and peaceful and warm.
And both baby owlet and a scared little lady facing chemo settled down into a quiet peace.
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