Resolve

9/11/26

Resolve can be birthed from turmoil and the most disheartening life circumstances that serve to strengthen us in the end.

You can wipe out my identity, my life, my home, but you can’t take this soul, my resolve, and my tireless pursuit for the spiritual life.  

My gumption.

My discipline.

My love.

My innate wisdom.

They all arrived here in me, and with me, as I began this little life. And they get strengthened the more I live.

There’s been years, during which I couldn’t live from them, but the past few have proven that this little light of mine will not be lost.  The fire in me rages on.

While I cared for beautiful Betty Ann, age 94, 11 years ago in all her glory despite dementia and difficulty moving around without her walker, I learned some things about this fire of mine, this fire in all of us, from this woman’s bright light.

One time, when we were still getting acquainted, I offered her a foot massage. I found a big bowl and filled it with warm water and a little soap.  I washed those worn feet and then began to rub one.  I squeezed it gently to test her pain threshold.  Sometimes even the tough-as-nails elders can’t withstand the slightest amount of pressure.  All those years of bracing and surviving.  Maybe it’s also being unaccustomed to touch in general as the world pays less attention and affections. Especially if a spouse has gone before.  

This resolved woman had survived her husband by a couple decades and was now being cared for by her devoted daughter along with a few of us hired caregivers.  They’d moved together to Maui to enjoy her later years.

As I got going on some massage techniques her face lit up and she smiled. I’d attended massage school at nights while in college and worked as a massage therapist for 15 years.  She was withstanding and thoroughly enjoying a medium level of pressure.  She put her head back against the big red upholstered chair she’d sit in for teatime and closed her eyes to fully imbibe.

I found out in massage school that in this relaxed state, people would feel my thoughts. So I started doing my best at sending loving ones.  I told her foot without speaking, “I love you Betty Ann’s foot.  Thank you for getting this little lady bird around all these years.”  She let out a great, big sigh.  I’m telling you; they feel it.  It translates right through the touch in a relaxed state.

Then it was about ten minutes in, when she opened her eyes, turned to me and said with a smile and a look of slight surprise, “Well don’t hide your light under a bushel.” 

I smiled back.  I’d never seen her look surprised.  After this many years of living she had a way of remaining unshaken with a subtle, sly expression on her face that seemed to let us know she’d seen some shit.  And through it all, she was still here to connect with an open heart and even a bit of wonder with those whose paths she crossed. 

I had also never heard this expression, but I knew what she meant.  After having been caring for her as a caregiver for a little over a month, this was my first time massaging her aged body, and she didn’t know this was a skill I came with.

That one statement and the way it was uttered by an unflappable, elderly soul is one of my cherished compliments.  She has served as a symbol of encouragement to this day when life serves up challenge and obstacles meant to make me small.  There’s this woman who died with me by her side a mere 8 months later reminding me to never hide what I am and what I’ve got to give.  Shine it. Own it.  Use some discernment as to who I really let ‘er rip with, but know that this allowing your kindness, compassion and natural sweetness to shine is fiercer than the darkness meant to dim it and stifle it. 

When I feel this and can trust it in my higher-self moments, there’s no need for defenses and pretenses. Boundaries aren’t required in those magical moments because the lesser motives coming at me fall by their own mere weight.