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This friend, this beautiful person, this loving soul had lived the modern American life, one of consumption, of upper mobility, of keeping up with everything the ever changing culture demanded. Her life had been about buying, taking, using and very little about giving, supporting, loving. But then, tragedy struck and she felt the pain of losing her family, her livelihood, and her up and coming career with one of the most profitable publishing houses in the world because of a serious illness that almost cost her her life. Something snapped, a light went on inside her and she turned 180 degrees and by some otherworldly power, she was shown an entire different way of living. So she adopted a new life, she never gave up, kept moving forward and beat the odds, not only surviving but flourishing. Losing everything and her brush with mortality gave her a new sense of purpose and she vowed to dedicate her life to providing inspiration, motivation, support, care, and love to those who perhaps had or were experiencing major challenges of their own. She became a beacon of hope, of light to hundreds of people, giving of her time freely, without concern for remuneration or anything at all in return. She lived a life of giving
I pulled up in front of her house, parked the car and slowly walked the last couple of yards to her entry. There were dozens upon dozens of potted plants, lining the gravel walk, tucked here and there and everywhere amongst the trees and lining the perimeter of her home. I noticed several small, rustic outbuildings to the right, one a little lean-to that appeared as if it was a potting shed, the other a smaller building, perhaps for storage. .
The house was very modest, almost perfectly square, with a pitched roof and a small window in each of the three sides in my view. It was the color of the trees, the rich forest green that canopied this place, dappled with little dots of the autumn sun that filtered through the thick copse of pine boughs to the rear.Â
The front door was ajar and my friend was standing there, a huge smile on her face, holding a huge bouquet of wildflowers. As I approached she steeped aside, put her arm out, pointed inside her home and said, “Welcome to my humble little nest in the wood”€
The floor was the color of rich, fertile soil, a smooth expanse the stretched to the four corners of the place. The walls mirrored the exterior color however, they glowed with the light of dozens of candles, flickering on almost every vacant surface. I could smell the delightful aroma of something baking, but could not detect from where it came,
The room was lit by the light of a small lantern, bathing the area in a soft, warm glow. She invited me to sit, pointing out a small, canvas director’s chair that fit perfectly with the decor of the home, minimalist taken to the extreme but it fit this place, this time, this person. She sat down in the other chair, across from me and began asking me questions about my life, my successes, my family, my friends. I wanted to talk about her life in this wonderful place, but she averted this deftly, by asking more questions of me. We laughed, we talked, we laughed some more and even cried a wee bit. She excused herself several times, retreated to the shadows at the back of the room and returned carrying plates of cheese, crackers, fruit, cookies, chocolate, placing them on a small, whitewashed table between us. We sipped on icy cups of fresh lemonade, just the perfect combination of sweet and tart.
Once she had cleared the remains of our feast, she returned holding something behind her back, a huge smile on her lovely face. When she revealed what it was, I gasped and giggled in delight. It was a painting, one of my own paintings, one I had painted at the very beginning of my career the title “Painting Life” a depiction of my dream home, my dream location, and my dream lover. Years ago, after a rather bitter divorce, my ex-husband had grabbed up everything of ours, his, and mine he could get his hands on and left me with a whole lot of nothing. She told me the story of how she had come across this painting contacting him, finding out about the painting, going to the thrift shop in a town hundreds of miles away, locating the painting and buying it for pennies all so she could, one day in the future, surprise me with this very special gift.
Tears rolled down my face as I held the painting in my hands. She just stood smiling, her hands clutched together tightly, watching my reaction. I stood up, set the painting down and grabbed her slender frame, squeezing until she almost cried out in pain. I gushed with words of gratitude as she stood there humbly, not saying a word, until finally she spoke, I’ve learned the hard way that to be myself was not what I truly wanted to be I yearned to be someone nicer, someone more compassionate, someone more giving, and someone more loving. With this gift I have made something wonderful happen my friend is full of joy and I have now become the person that I have always wanted to be. I thank you my dear friend, for never giving up on me you are the one who has given the greatest gift your faith. With that, she took my hand and led me out into the fresh, clean mountain air. We said our goodbyes and I got into my car. As I was turning around in the drive, I looked back at her standing there, alone, surrounded by flowers, trees, and the sounds of nature, smiling, glowing, a truly happy, fulfilled human being there in front of her tent.
It’s not about where you live what only matters is how you live the life you have been given
LE
9.1.11
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