Resilience

I picked up this extraordinary seedpod on my walk today.

It's a seedpod from an invasive species called Scotch Broom, which has a tendency to take over any untended field in Washington that is not already taken over by blackberry bushes. The plant, while often lovely to look at, is invasive, toxic, and a general nuisance.

This little seedpod is newly formed, but had I left it in the field, it would have the potential to lay dormant for 30-80 years until germination, which could be quick and effective with just the slightest disturbance in the topsoil. Even forest fire doesn't usually destroy the pods, though collecting and directly burning the plants and their seeds is the only real way to get rid of them.

Why is it that the toxic things in our life often have the most staying power? It's so easy to let them hang out on the margins, waiting for the slightest disturbance to wake up, germinate, and grow.

My mom spent a lot of time working with Alzheimers and dementia patients. While some of their behaviors couldn't be explained, many times those latent seeds are exactly what show up in their interactions with people and the world. We have often discussed what that means for us at this moment. I want to plant strength, grace, and love so deep in my soul that their resilience is what defines me, even when I can no longer define myself.

Beauty can be resilient, too.

Power

During family time, the kids were asking about Power. If we had superhuman power, what would it look like? Truthfully, we do have access to superhuman power through grace, but it doesn't make things disappear or move the through the air, the way our kids think it should. Magic and power are really quite different, despite what the storybooks say.

When the kids asked us how we used that power, I said it was like the power to keep going, to be brave, even when the crushing sadness of losing a friend makes you want to stop everything. My husband talked about the power just to remain in the same space where he was when he heard the news, not to run away and fail to return. "I'm sad that your friend died," my littlest commented. Me, too. Me, too. But I'm thankful for superhuman power, that I can keep going.

Then I made it simpler. It's like the power to go running in the rain tonight, even though I really don't want to. The power to get out there and do something that I wouldn't normally do. To keep going that extra step, when my body is tired and I don't want to go.

We prayed, I sang a lullaby, said good night and left the room, immediately throwing on a sweatshirt and my sneakers. I left my glasses on the kitchen table and headed out into the rain, powerful, every step feeling against my will, but strong and steady. I am not athletic or strong, but I have power, to say yes to every step further away from home, which also says yes to a step I have to run back.

The hour wasn't late, but it was quiet out, not many people venturing through the steady rain to work or play on a Saturday night. I ran my usual route, past the rock wall where I always speed up a bit in case of snakes, around the corner full of allergy-inducing flowers, and along the four-lane road. I saw the unusual stump far up ahead, but without glasses I didn't give it much thought, until it moved.

The well-camouflaged creature crept like a cat, but was far too large, and as it stood, far too lanky. Traffic passed and it leapt out into the now empty road, darting for the other side, but stopping just after the median and turning back, to look at the only other creature in sight, a drenched human in yoga pants and a t-shirt, huffing along the path. We both stopped for a moment and stared at each other, unsure of our next step.

The coyote, for closer I now saw its distinct features, stood uncertain, the woods on the other side of the road beckoning it, but its curiosity taking over. How should I have felt? Afraid? At the very least, I had no desire to encounter an unafraid wild animal, much less a predatory one. But it was crouching, curious, and I was filled with power. Power that got me out of the house on a rainy night, power that kept me going through aching loss, and power that wasn't about to let a coyote ruin my run. A car appeared on the horizon, and suddenly prompted by compassion, I whisper-yelled to the coyote, whose ears stood tall, "Get off the road!"

This was the last thing he expected. He quickly broke eye-contact and made for the opposite side, well into the woods by the time the car approached, and I continued my run, not about to let anything keep me from my resolved 5K.

As I made it to the final stretch, lungs burning, my coyote-friend filled my thoughts. An unexpected appearance in a dreary routine can make all the difference. Otherwise, we're never quite sure of what's inside of us, quietly waiting for a miracle, for a surprise, for a moment of power.