"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
-- Mary Oliver, from her poem, "The Summer Day."
What DO YOU PLAN to do with your one wild and precious life?
There is nothing like the diagnosis, treatment, end-stage of a serious illness, or grief to throw personal perspective, and life itself, into wild disrepair. The net of sorrow is cast wide. Friends, relatives, neighbors, co-workers, and professional associates can all be profoundly affected by the illness or death of a friend.
If we are open to a new perspective, each of us might begin to perceive that yesterday's 'boring' routine of work, family, and community obligations can feel downright precious, even blessed, in comparison to the stress-filled 'now' of our friend in need.
You may find yourself breathing anew the blessings of days packed with activities such as work, school, child-care, sports, carpool, bridge, travel, and community events -- days plumb full with the unheralded 'blessings-of-the-moment,' the precious 'monotonies-of-everyday-life.' You may even find yourself re-evaluating how you've lived your life in the past -- and how you might want to live it in the future. (No matter whether, for you, that future is measured in decades, years, months, or days.)
Maybe you're the one who is ill. Or perhaps you are a caregiver, family member, friend, neighbor, co-worker, or professional associate of someone who struggles with illness or grief. You're trying to be supportive, to 'be there' in his or her time of need. But the situation feels somewhat uncomfortable, and you don't know exactly how to help or what to do to make it better. And you find yourself confronting the uncomfortable realization that one day, more likely than not, you will also have a serious illness. You, too, will grieve. And eventually, we all will die.
No matter what our spiritual or religious heritage, each one of us would do well to reflect on the revised question posed by poet Mary Oliver.
"What will I do with my one wild and precious life?"
We each have but one life to live, and to give, though most days it seems neither precious nor wild. But it is our life -- our one life. And no matter how many days are left in it, our one life is precious. When faced with a life-changing illness, either your own illness or that of a loved one or community member, many people decide to 're-group and re-evaluate' both their priorities and their way of life.
And that is good.
Because, in the normalcy of every-day routine, we can become mired in 'not seeing the forest through the trees.' In fact, amid the hustle and bustle and scheduled chaos of daily life, we often miss both the forest and the trees! And our myopic culture, with its narrow vision of what it means to be human, doesn't help -- not one bit.
The fragmented culture, with its relentless focus on superficiality and materialism, trains us to see only a small part of a single branch, on the all-but-invisible 'Tree of Life.' Sadly, too often, our diminished life-view consists of a solitary leaf, isolated from branch and tree, roots and soil, rain and sunshine, day and night -- isolated from other trees, and from the life-saving eco-system of consoling grace.
In other words, focusing too narrowly on the troubles of every day life can cause us to miss out on 'soul photosynthesis.' After all, a soul, like a plant, cannot grow without exposure to the sun. So it is, that every one of us needs light from true wisdom to shine warmth into our lives, to help us to grow in lived compassion.
And we need the strength, courage, endurance, and fortitude to continue with our ministry of care, to live our lives attentively, to be instruments of mercy to our families, co-workers, and neighbors.
If there exists a blessing in the midst of serious illness and grief, it is this: that we are 'forced' to slow down, to look at and to see our life for what it is -- to see the materialism, careerism, egocentrism, and brokenness that mark much of our daily existence.
And to make changes, if we dare.
It is said that spiritual concerns are not pushed out of our lives, so much as crowded out. The busyness and the noise of 'all-that-needs-to-be-done' crowds out the time that should be allotted to our faith life -- and to respite from the storm.
In the Reflections and Prayers From Around the World section of this web site, we have provided some beginning means to 'crowd out' the distractions. The spiritual reflections are intended to be a 'safe harbor' within which you can rest.
Read and reflect.
Try, if you can, to allow the reflections to wash over you. Try to schedule time each day to reflect, to pray, to meditate on how you can grow. Maybe you'll find one or two new favorites among the reflections and prayers we've provided. If so, that's great. But don't worry if these selections aren't your style. The important thing is simply to pray -- to speak and to listen to the Author of Life -- as often as you can.
Who knows?
Perhaps allowing time for prayer and reflection will help you to better answer Mary Oliver's question:
"What WILL I do with my one wild and precious life?"
What will I do, this day, with my one life?
What choices will I make, today, to honor the precious gift of this one day -- this fragile day, filled as it is with stresses and struggles, pain and uncertainty, grief and worry?
Perhaps the more important question is:
"What will I allow my life's Author to do with -- and through -- my one wild and precious life -- this day and every day?"
The answer?
Let go.
Allow the Author of your 'wild and precious life' to draw near to you in a way that transforms this 'valley of tears' into a garden of life, where your soul's tree can flourish.
Who knows?
Maybe you will decide to live simply, to love more and to listen better, to seek out and to offer forgiveness, to cherish your beloved, to be kind to yourself and to others, to live for the good beyond yourself, and to leave a legacy of faith, and hope, and love, to all who encounter you.
That would be wild indeed.
And infinitely precious.
