Seeds of Hope

Six years ago this morning, I left a friend’s home in Mission Viejo to drive home to Arizona. I’d never seen the California coast, however...so without a plan, and simply a deep desire to see the ocean, I headed south.  Inexplicably, I discovered the Basilica San Juan Capistrano, and hopped out of my vehicle to take a picture.

Mission Basilica San Juan Capistrano 

Why I got off I-5 in San Juan Capistrano? A brown sign is my guess.  All I knew is I felt a very strong pull to see the ocean, which I later did at Doheny State Park at Dana Point.  

Doheny State Park

I was delighted to find a road by the beach, and took it south until I had to turn east when I hit San Clemente.  I then hopped back on the I-5 and headed home, pondering how I felt.

I knew I would be back.

Only a few times in my life has a place left me with such a pull-Mackinac, Prescott, parts of the Caribbean-and I knew there was a connection.  

Unbeknownst to me, the Buckeye had lived in the area for several years after getting out of the Marines.  His friends still do-and I’ve spent many happy days visiting them there.

San Clemente Pier.

The Princess now lists San Clemente as her top destination to move...and I have dreams of Ride in all these California towns.

It was freezing, but she had to have her beach time!

Six years ago, right now, my marriage was in its darkest days.  Everyday was full of pain; I was exhausted from the constant emotional hurt.  Yet on that morning, I felt pulled to what would be part of my future.  I knew somehow I’d be back; at the time I concluded my then-business would be taking off over there and I was deeply encouraged.  I picked up a stone from the beach, and hugged it to my heart as I prayed, thanking God for leading me to that place.  

That rock came home with me, survived the moves and is now in my backyard.  My new husband often takes me to exactly those spots in California; the Basilica is literally steps from his old stomping grounds.  The trials we’ve faced (him almost dying was just half of it!) has never quenched the deep joy in this marriage.  Quite simply, it’s easy to be with him.  Our little joys are many, in direct opposition to the hurdles.  Our partnership has blossomed instead of stagnated, and days of emotional pain are but a distant memory.

He loves my peacock-inspired hair, and was well enough to attend the Phoenix Open for a few hours last week.

Six years ago today, when I was hurting, I felt pulled to visit the seashore.  The seed of hope that was deposited in my heart I can now see was literally a glimpse of my future.  

When in pain, sometimes it’s hard to see the seeds of hope around us.  Other times, they’re easy to gather; when widowed with an infant, each new thing she learned was a seed of hope.  A smile, a roll, a wave, sitting up, eating peas, saying “dada,” crawling...all those little firsts were seeds of hope.  Hope that at least in that, life would again some day be normal.

So it’s unsurprising that in a life that’s far from normal right now, I find myself looking for seeds of hope.  I had been thrown into a quiet tailspin; I alone knew how I struggled.  The similarities to the Knight’s death overwhelmed me; my old nemesis Widowhood was stalking me.  As I sank, I saw the New Year as a seed of hope; perhaps resolutions would help.  I gathered many known seeds around me:  my Bible, a devotional, my beautiful new planner, a new bag of mechanical pencils.  I found a partner in my Buckeye; who was tasked simple to ask me if I was doing what I said I would do.  With a complete lack of control over the path my life was forced to take, I took control of the things I could:  my attitude, my priorities, my food choices and my hair.

This color was on my list in 2016, when I did my Poison Ivy red/orange combo, too:)

My hair.  Ohhhhhhhhhhh what a source of joy!!!  To look down and see my two favorite colors blended so beautifully-such joy and hope it brings!  I couldn’t help but be inspired by the Buckeye’s Christmas gift to me-a beautiful butterfly pendant with blue-green wings.

He hit a grand slam home run with this piece...with a brain injury, even!

While some of the seeds of hope I planted didn’t take (I work online, so limiting online time is not feasible; journaling is long gone) others have: a strict cut off of not working past 5pm or working on weekends, the habit of picking up a devotional, and taking time to think about the scriptures I read.  As we enter the season in Scottsdale and prepare for Prescott’s season, I am encouraged as things start to change for the better; we do have good days ahead.  When life seemed completely out of my control, I made a choice to correct my course.

Hope can be like that morning at Dana Point-a strong pull towards something, that when followed, gave deep peace.  It can be the actions of those around us, encouraging us.  More often, however, I’m finding it’s a choice.  A choice to do what we know is right for us.

Because dying your hair to match a peacock’s feathers certainly isn’t for everyone....!!!

Surely this lady isn’t reacting to my hair...?!?

The reaction to my hair has made me chuckle: I have admiring comments from the group of people who make their body their art.  The heavily tattooed, pierced crowd never fails to compliment me on it; the welcoming kinship is lovely (since I have only pierced ears and not a single tattoo!). Men are fascinated by it; when they talk to me their eyes are on my hair, not my face.  Women either ignore it or give me stink-eye, which I find hysterically funny.  Afterall, I did this for me, to regain some control over my life.  The “how dare she” looks are the reason why more women don’t do what I did, for fear of judgement.

Now that’s an whole different blog.....!!!

Today, the Buckeye has PT/OT, and a big test we hope he passes.  His future is looking bright; so long as he doesn’t bump his head he should have a full recovery.

There are still moments I sink; when the specter of widowhood rears and my little company overwhelms me.  But more often, I am thankful for today, for this moment in time.  The Commander wants us to meet her new boyfriend, the one I met as her friend who was very polite, called me ma’am and admired my antiques when he helped her move out of our house to Prescott.  Manchild will soon no longer be called Manchild, as he works step by step towards his goal of becoming a United States Marine. The Princess had grabbed on to similar seeds of hope in the new year; I see marked maturity in my nearly 17 years old daughter.  My husband, though injured, has rallied to a remarkable degree.  I no longer panic if he wanders away from me in the grocery store; worry no longer accompanies me on trips to Prescott without him.

Hope:  truly the anchor of our soul.