Be Kind, Julie...

At each one I poke my finger in the soil, deciding whether to water it. I am a plant lover, my home filled with them, so this process takes awhile.

One plant needs pruning and I remember my amputation. Wincing, I wonder if it feels pain. Yet it is weighed down by sick looking leaves, so snip. Another needs more sun and I move it to a table nearer the window. Their beauty comforts, my heart sunnier for this chore.

In comes an idea, lacing like ivy leaves...as Robin William's words come too:

"Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind."

Be kind, Julie.

Memories slip around then.

A kindergartner...trying to color in lines. Try harder, Julie, try harder. A lunch period in first grade, when the gym teacher made me sit on the stage as punishment for talking to my neighbor. Wetting my pants, walking away from that gym, trying to hide my mistake.

Try harder, Julie, try harder.

Years spin ahead, as they do if we're lucky. Acne and homesickness. Falling off bikes, skidding knees and car accidents, learning to adult. School grades, job reviews. Parenting teenagers. And much more. Endless, really. So many chances to...

...try harder, Julie, try harder.

In the hospital bed I had looked at my leg, bandaged and short now. Brochures about amputations piled next to me, with instructions about daily exercises. With a physical therapist, I had learned to crutch up and down stairs. Just two. But two seemed a victory worthy of champagne, a flipping ticker tape parade.

Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about. You too, Julie.

My body ached, broken and tired from all its effort. To do the right thing, to heal. It had tried and tried for a long time, too long. So my spirit started to leave for a minute or five, hovering above. And it looked down on someone who had fallen, yes, but risen and put her best foot forward, again and again.

Trying mightily.

Like we do, day after day. For it takes courage to wake in the morning, to step out of bed. To say yes at the sunrise.

So I look at myself with massive love now, at least more. Because something snapped when I looked at my bandaged body. Finally, at last, it seemed wholly inappropriate or wrong or maybe even cruel...to not speak kindly to myself. I wondered why this had not occurred to me before, in all those whole bodied days...you know, the way our minds meander, sometimes pretty recklessly.

For my body has carried me through dancing and hangovers, babies and menopause, chemo too. Times I have asked much of it, way too much, tried to tear it down or dismiss its desires. My heart has said yes more than no, shown up when it is hard, breathed through my fears. Forgiven and been forgiven, shedding tears that turn to laughter.

Through these extravagant love glasses, results become inconsequential. We gaze on our good intentions, all that we have done, not what we have left undone. We remember our goodness, bowing to ourselves, saying well done, good and faithful servant.

Well done.

Looking back to each plant, I ask what they need today. Then I look into my heart...asking what I need today.

Be kind, Julie....

...and I turn to you.