The place where I am recuperating has a fabulous healing quality about it. I am sitting outside, listening to the water spill out into a pond. The sun dial has this message that brought a smile to my face: I count only sunny hours. I am not naive enough to believe that no darkness creeps unannounced into life but I have a strong desire to latch on to the positive. That is what I asked of those around me too as I have walked each step since discovering the tumours in my liver. Remarkably, even the most negative Puddleglums in my life have honoured the request to remain positive.

I have been abundantly blessed with thoughtful acts of kindnesses these past months: masses said, candles lit, prayers raised, rides given, food made, prayer shawls knitted, comforting words spoken, and so much more. The sunny hours have far outweighed the overcast ones. Such devoted service by so many is humbling. I have felt incredibly held by a worldwide community of both believers and non-believers. Christians, Jews, Muslims, and Buddhists have become one in their longing to see me well and whole. That in itself has been a spectacular gift.

The power of prayer is real to me. For the friends who have said rosaries, novenas, and humble sighs for mercy, I am grateful. One of the touching moments the morning of my surgery occurred just I was wheeled down to the operating room. My brother and two friends had risen early to be with me. As the transport people approached me, one friend boldly offered up a prayer. While I do not remember the exact words, what struck me was the authority in which she spoke it and the certainty of the request being heard. Whatever darkness might have been hovering around looking for a point of entry, that prayer banished it. The Son shone down on me, the medical team and those praying for me.

I am counting my sunny moments during my recovery. I have had a couple of cloudy moments but in general the pain and the little relapses are held at bay. Today, for example, after a busy schedule yesterday, I felt quite tired and so I rested a good portion of the morning. This afternoon was a bit of a different story. I had the energy to walk in the garden and linger in the beauty with my camera. I am ready for a nap now but feel stronger than earlier. There are still many storm clouds to keep an eye out for–the chance of infection, pneumonia or a blood clot are risks post-surgery. Walking is the best preventative measure for most of the risks. Resting is the balancing act.

Life is a mix of sun and storm. I refuse to get caught in the downpour for long without a little sundance. I believe that all the positive thinking will keep the darkness in the cave while I stand out in the garden. How do you approach life? Do you count only the sunny moments to keep going? There is value in embracing the thunderstorms and gleaning important lessons. I know this very well but today I am soaking in the sun and happy to stay there.

Peace,

Suzanne