Saturday, August 11, 2012

Willow

I said I'm strong, straight, willing to be a shelter in a storm---
Your willow, oh willow, when the sun is out.

~Joni Armatrading

When I was in elementary school, we lived at the house on University.  One might think that this was in a large city and we must live down from the local University.  Nope, not the case at all.  Instead, we lived out in the country of a small little Wisconsin farm town where there was not a University at all.  The irony of this street name only came to me in my adult years.

The house with a bright red door had a large back yard and a hill that was perfect for sledding.  The neighborhood was filled with kids and beyond the backyard was a woods where we would spend hours running around, building "forts," and getting completely mosquito-bite covered.  When we moved in the Spring of 1992, however, what I missed most was the gigantic willow tree in the back yard.

This willow tree was at least a million feet tall.  It had the perfect layout, begging short passersby to stop and climb it.  When we climbed up to the first tier of seating (a branch I later approached to see it was about 5 feet high), we were already hidden inside the leaves like campers in a tent.

Sometimes the storms raging at 4:00 have thunder and lightening that jolt us awake.  Sometimes the storms within us do the same.  At times like this, I find it helpful to find a willow tree.

In recent days, many of you have been willow trees:  prayers are coming from different states, lunch dates with friends, phone calls and text messages and emails making sure I'm staying strong, offers for stargazing and hugs galore.  No one requests details--they just love and support.  That's how I need it--don't ask why it is storming, just provide the shelter to keep others as dry as possible.

Last night, I went to bed at midnight.  The earliest all week. 

Today, I ate 3 meals.  The first time in probably a month.

I even stretched out on the yoga ball and did a few crunches.

And tonight, I laid in bed with my favorite little 11 year old boy and began to feel some calm coming within me.

The storm is not over, my friends, but I can handle the rain.  And I will continue seeking out my many willow trees. 

XO,
La

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