Flowers always brighten my day and lift my spirit. Well, almost always. But not on this particular day. I'd purchased flowers in order to make a flower arrangement for the upcoming Sogetsu ikebana exhibit. As a student and teacher of this Japanese art of flower arranging, I was both invited and expected to participate in the exhibition. I am usually excited to take part. However, I had just returned from seeing another "-ologist" and the doctor gave me the news that I have yet another chronic diagnosis.
The sadness that overwhelmed me made it seem impossible to keep this exhibition commitment. I held little desire to even look at the flowers that now sat in a bucket in the laundry room. As if deep sadness wasn't enough to deal with, I began to hear the little committee in my head arguing with me about being dependable and about not feeling sorry for myself. Feelings of guilt began rising up in me...
The committee won the argument. I packed up my supplies and flowers and headed my car to the exhibit where the other Sogetsu artists had began assembling their arrangements. Once I was at the venue, I unpacked my supplies and began sorting through the flowers and palm leaves that I had brought to work with. It was not long before I discovered that one of the gerbera daisies was broken. The stem was snapped just a couple of inches below the blossom.
Just when I thought the arrangement was complete, I looked over at the short, stubby remains of the gerbera daisy. I sighed. It sort of reminded me of myself ~ broken just beneath the surface. Like the daisy, I was holding a bright face toward the world. None of my fellow artists would have imaged how upset the news I'd received that morning about my health was affecting me. My eyes began to fill with tears. I picked up the little broken flower and it spoke to my heart. I then placed it low in the flower arrangement. There was a special place for that flower.
For Your Reflection ~
Where/how do the wounded or broken parts of me fit into the world - my relationships, daily commitments, etc.?
How has it been helpful (or not) to hide the emotional effects of my diagnosis?
What opportunities does my brokenness offer me? Or others?
When I am depressed or feeling un-well, what/who do I avoid that could help lift my spirit? What is behind my resistance to those potentially life-giving supports?
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