May 13, 2008
What astonishing days the planet has just come through, with cyclone and earthquake and tornados changing the face of huge parts of the earth; add the misery contributed by humanity in its dealings with humanity, and the picture becomes bleak. Yesterday, I saw images of thirsty people standing in water that is too dark and lethal to drink, and images of hungry children running toward relief trucks with too little rice to give. Today there are photos of entire villages shaken into debris with people crying over their dead. All of that, and I am here in the middle of a green place with weeping willow fronds moving in the wind and pear and plum trees so covered with blossoms the air is filled with a gentle snow of white petals. It is too much and it turns my mind into a weary morass which cannot reconcile these things. In the small sound of a single voice, one asks God for large mercy and aid for difficulties too huge to comprehend.
Back inside my own skin, life goes on with a continued slow slide downward in the blood counts. Now the blood is to be read weekly because the white cells are at the “low critical” stage. I knew that I was slipping because of the increase in fatigue and bone pain. All the tests taken by the gastroenterologist came back negative, with no signs of the typical illnesses that might cause the digestive difficulties, so “it is what it is”. 
In this little phrase, I quote from a story told by daughter Janna about her twins. Returning from a Florida beach holiday several weeks ago, the girls were sharing a motel bed and Fiona was tossing and turning, unable to become comfortable because of a sunburn that she’d gotten the previous day. Ursula began to complain bitterly and commanded her sister to be quiet so that she could get to sleep. Fiona calmly responded with “It is what it is” and then as both the rolling about and Ursula’s dismay continued, she said, “You gotta accept what you can’t change”. Each time I think about these philosophical offerings coming from a seven year old, it makes me smile; changing the years to decades, the philosophy still applies, but perhaps without the smile.
I have to come back to the small and near things to feel at peace once more – Alphie is laying against my feet as I type this, and Charles is sitting next to me working on a manuscript. The setting sun has changed the tops of the trees gold and the birds are making their final commentaries to this day in May. Sanctuary is beautiful and teeming with new life moving forward as it has each spring since the beginning of time. “It is what it is”.