SHELTERED AND SHATTERED - A REARVIEW LOOK - BROKEN AND WHOLE

Thirteen months ago, both an eternity and a nano-second, my pilgrimage of self-discovery, art exploration and quest for nature-nurture commenced on a sun-drenched June morning.  As I sat in the captain's seat of my mobile shelter, Pedro(my Pleasureway RV) carried me across the threshhold of the backroads of rural southwestern Minnesota. California was my first destination - the first leg of my journey.  Eager, calm and expectant, I enjoyed five days of uneventful travel before my first glitch - a near accident with resultant brake damage necessitating a 2-day repair job. An absence of clairvoyance is a good thing when one's future days hold a plethora of breakdown events to come. Some people label them character-building events, others call them pissy problems.  Over the course of a year, I called them both!

Two months ago, near the end of my year-on-the-road, I lay in the Intensive Care Unit of a Minneapolis hospital, having been told by doctors that I had survived a CVA (cerebrovascular accident-commonly called a 'stroke') as I sat in my RV at a gas station in Nebraska, three days earlier.  Herein lies a rather long story, much of which I will abbreviate in the interest of wordiness as I punctuate my pilgrimage with this, my last blog of my journey.

Twenty-one days passed between my last blog entry and my arrival at a high desert campground 8 miles northeast of Santa Fe, New Mexico.  Three dreamlike weeks in Santa Fe were a fitting endcap to my previous 11 months. Artmaking on the picnic table of my juniper-peppered campsite, plentiful excursions for gallery hopping on Canyon Road, community concerts in town, contemplative worship experiences in the oldest protestant church building in New Mexico - my days ticked off the calendar with restfulness and purpose.  Thoughts of re-entering 'normal everyday life' in my home state of Minnesota at months' end began invading my psyche. 

Tucked safely in my New Mexico memories was a special Mother's Day weekend event - Passport to the Arts, a sputtering rainy day filled with plein-air artists showing 'their stuff' while engaged in a 1-1/2 hour 'paint-in'.  Watching these 70 artists at work was pure delight!  Such variety in media and subject matter!   The evening art auction/wine reception under the shelter of a festive tent was a first for me.  My indulgent moments after a special day often ends with a decadent chocolate dessert and a fine glass of wine at a cozy wine bar.  That day was no exception to my tradition, thanks to the nifty makeover of a small historic spanish home into the iconic 315 Wine Bar - a little gem of French cruisine in an exquisite Southwestern city.

Three weeks into my Santa Fe hiatus, my night's sleep was shattered by a piercing stuccato alarm, jolting me from my cozy bed-nest.  Upon investigation, the culprit turned out to be a malfunctioning carbon monoxide alarm.  My attempted fix with a tiny screwdriver at floor level left me with an impaired shoulder and arm muscle, which over the ensuing two days turned into a major medical issue.  Drained and weary from the pain and lack of blood flow to my hand, I quickly packed.  Abbreviating my planned New Mexico sojourn, I pointed Pedro toward Minnesota and began my homeward trek, driving one-handed as my disabled arm lay in my lap.  Unknown to me at the time, two major clots were lurking in my thoracic vessels, the result of skeletal traumas from the congenital extra cervical bones that I knew to be one of my birth-anomalies.  The clots 'behaved' for the first 30 hours of my journey, then (thankfully) while parked to refuel (instead of while driving) they (the clots) moved - a resultant stroke, which unfolded slow enough for me to make a phone call to 911 - a call for help - before the onset of my disorientation. My Sioux City, IA hospital emergency room visit clarified the diagnosis.  Deeming me stable enough for transit, a nighttime ambulance ride brought my pilgrimage to end back in MN, albeit in a broken state in a hospital ICU room.  

In the abyss of the unknown, much of the meat of life passes through one's consiousness. My ICU days were a blur of pain, fragmented thoughts, whispered imaginary voices of anxiousness, drug induced periods of floating nothingness except for the nearness of the Spirit of God. As the haze cleared, clarity brought a degree of thankfulness and focus.  My stroke left me with absolutely no deficits - paralysis - speech impairment - nothing!  Such miraculous grace!  The needed 'fix' for my hand and arm numbness and restricted blood flow turned out to be a required surgery to remove my thoracic bone anomalies and clot removal of one of the clots with thoracic vessel reconstructions.  
A five day out-of-hospital wait before an opening in the surgery schedule provided me with nurture by dear ones in my life and days of deep reflection on my past year and the future that lay ahead of me.

Books have often served as the voice of God in my life.  My year-long travels were inspired by the book:  The Art of Pilgrimage:  A Seeker's Guide to Making Travel Sacred.  Though this book is not exclusively 'christian', the messages, suggestions and thoughts can easily be reinvented in christian terms if the reader desires.  Another book that has been an inspiration to me, Let Your Life Speak, was written by a Quaker, Parker Palmer.  The messages gleaned from the pen of Parker, have helped me over the past year to face some of the difficult truths about myself - my weaknesses and strengths.  I have choices in my life - when ego and arrogance raises its ugly head, I can, instead, choose humility. As Parker says, "The concept of finding 'your voice' within your true self is a friendship that heals the soul."  My pilgrimage has welcomed a healing to my soul as I have discovered my true self. The nature nurture I sought in my travels was realized in moments of quietness in God's nature all over the country, whether in flower-gilted ditches, or rocky beaches, sandy deserts or foothill grasses, creole waterways or midwest grassy plains.  God spoke to me through it all.  

The four seasons of my journey-year will be an ongoing life metaphor as I live and re-live my days on the road.  The maturing and growth of 'Summer' - the fruitbearing of 'Autumn' - the soul-searching bleakness and hibernation of 'Winter' as well as the new growth of 'Spring' - all necessary parts of life that create a circle of wholeness when mixed with the direction of God's spirit. As I continue absorbing the lessons of the road, my hope is that the growth and insights realized will be easily shared with all who cross my path.  

Though Pedro was my shelter, my sanctuary in both real and imagined storms in my life, 'he' also was the one who shattered me in the end.  My return home with physical brokenness brought on by yet one more mechanical malfunction stretched me beyond my limits.  Therein lies life's realities - much in life has the potential of bringing wholeness or brokenness to us.  The good news is that wholeness can be restored, often through the hands or voices of God's servants.  Physical, emotional, relational, mental - restoration comes in a variety of ways and time frames.  
Personal choices are real players in the journey of life.  This I know in a deeper way these days.

It is now two months post surgery for me.  Wholeness has returned to my body.  My spirit is filled with hope for my future.  I know not what doors will open, but I trust the truth of yet one more of Parker Palmer's declarations from his book:  "Each time a door closes, the rest of the world opens up."  

I look for the opening of my world as God brings it to me.  

I wish for each of you, my blog readers, a nurturing shelter in the midst of your storms and opening doors to your life which will bring you a renewed wholeness.   Peace to all!




Intothewind - Naturegirl