Realizing Hope : Surviving on the Unspoken (Day 8)

Gentle snowflakes lightly swirl outside my window. I sit within their silence that is composed of unique and unmatchable wonderment. As I watch them dance outside my window, they all look similar and are defined by the same unassuming beauty. But, in truth, they are each unique to themselves - differing in size, shape, and possibility. Each falling from the sky with the same intention, but none knowing if they’ll ever make it to the ground or where exactly they will settle. Some fall heavily with great intention and determination and others seemingly enjoy the journey and never make it to the ground. As I watch the peaceful falling snow descend from the cool sky I see hope reflected in every beautiful flake that dances upon winter’s crisp breath. 

There are hopes that easily escape from our lips and blanket the world with their determined spirit. And then there are those we keep deeply embedded within the safe confines of ourselves, never daring to whisper them to the world for simply doing so leaves us breathless. They are the ones that we can’t bare to hear ourselves say so they find release in the form  of tears that unexpectedly overwhelm our eyes and stain our cheeks.

Our days are defined by hopes of each magnitude, seen and unseen. They swirl about us and within us as we pursue each day unknowingly seeking to see them find their fruition. Each simple hope realized in a gifted beauty we take for granted much of the time - just like the very air that fills our lungs. For as long as I can remember, I’ve survived on unspoken hope. It silently burns within me and melts away the cold, harsh, and gripping realities of CF. They’re composed of hopes married with dreams in which my heart wishes more than anything  to hold within my hands. But, even the most determined of snowflakes melt at some point when we try to hold them within our grasp. So, I keep them tucked away for fear that they’ll never reach the ground, or that they will melt before my very eyes at the hands and horrors of CF. 

As I step out into the crisp bitter South Dakota air this morning, an indelible hope escapes upon the breath I just gave back to the world - the warm air escaping my lips and kissed by tiny ice crystals dancing upon morning’s light set to remind me that as long as I’m breathing, hope will always be present within me and around me. No matter if they live silently within my soul or are shared on the breath of today’s wintery spirit. Just because each unique hope may not fall in the form of a beautiful, gentle snow, and it may instead come in the form of rain, I must remember both are renewing and life-giving in their own unique and beautiful way. All that matters is that there is hope and it’s ever-present. Love to you all. 

Feeling Its Effects

- Day 7 - 

If you know me well, you know I struggle with the cold. It takes the pain in my joints and body and seemingly magnifies it leaving me stiff and consumed in an icy pain. My hands are usually a pale white and feel icy cold to the touch no matter how I try and warm them. As I craw into bed at night my feet hurt because they're so cold. I usually try and get Cooper to lay on my feet to give them some warmth. But, something has been different the last few days. As the temperatures here in South Dakota dip into the single digits and winter gives its best blustery show, my hands aren't cold to the touch. I've noticed it on several occasions where my hands would be normally freezing with pain and they actually feel warm. How is this possible you might ask? When your oxygen level is low or your lungs don't work effectively or efficiently, your body spends a great deal of extra work keeping your organs functioning and working, sacrificing blood flow to the outer extremities. Better blood flow has to be good, right? :)