A cardinal returns to the birdfeeder. Finding its content still frozen, he flutters around the snow-dusted porch for a few minutes before flying off into the woods. Watching him through the window, I feel compelled to venture outside.
The sun shines brightly in the clear blue sky, illuminating the white blanket-covered mountains with sparkles and my cheeks with warmth. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The words “you’re going to miss this, so take a good look around…,” from a Trace Adkins song, play on repeat in my mind. Tracking through the nearly knee-deep snow, I notice three small, lonesome leaves. Despite the mid-winter storms, they cling steadfast to a tall branch. I pause to commit the moment to memory, knowing fully that no mental image I take could adequately capture the beauty in front of me. An x-ray might do a better job in that moment – it would surely show my heart smiling.
Later that evening, I huddle together with my fellow community members under a makeshift fort built in the Jackson house living room. Blankets, pillows, tea cups, decks of cards, guitars, and a Bible accompany us on the floor. The fort walls open up to a window showcasing a full moon looking down on us. Laughter and music fill the air. As the night rolls in, I go to bed with a heart still smiling. “How are you both doing today?” I solemnly ask a participant on the phone. “We are doing the best we can, Debbie, but the nurse told me to be ready – he could go any time now. They have stopped all treatments because they were doing him more harm than good.” I hang up the phone thinking about the way skin cancer has eaten away at this man on the outside, but it has not damaged his gentle, loving spirit.
For devotion that evening, we watch the 1992 documentary film Baraka. Vivid images of nature and humanity take me on a profoundly humbling journey. I can feel my heart beat in my chest and my stomach churns as I view scenes depicting genocide and extreme poverty. After the film, I retreat to my bed with a heart that, although no longer smiling, is still full – with gratitude for the life with which I’ve been blessed.
Debbie is a 2nd year volunteer serving as an Elderly Services Caseworker and living in the Jackson Volunteer Community. Opinions expressed in volunteer blogs are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of CAP or the Volunteer Program.
