Fleeting Frost Weed

"Trash bags in the woods!" I thought to myself. I saw about a dozen similar images like the one above scattered on the trail one cold, wintry morning. It looked like someone had just let loose of plastic bags and let the wind carry them away to eventually settle on the forest floor, wedged between shrubs and sticks and whatever green ground cover survives the winter months here in the South. I stopped, surprised at the volume of supposed trash. I mean, one bag would be "tolerable," but a dozen or more? Nope! Not good for mankind. I don't actually pick up trash when I'm running; I just get annoyed by it. And that's not good either. I realized I should probably act on this one, let my conscience kick in and not just my criticism and annoyance at other people's poor decisions, as the trash just seemed so irreverent out in the stillness of the early morning in the woods.

I walked closer to one of the white "bags," and when I reached to pick it up, it melted in my hands! It was nothing more than delicate, icy ribbons of layered patterns and folds! These were not trash bags strewn in the woods at all. These "now picturesque," white, ghostlike sculptures were the beautiful phenomena called frost weed, a perennial herb that grows in wooded areas and has a thick stem that holds a plethora of water. When the first freeze comes, that water bursts out of the stem and produces white, ribbonlike, one-of-a-kind designs that . . . well, can resemble plastic bags. Frost weed only remains in its icy state for a few hours, then the morning sun or rising temperatures melt away the frosty designs, and all traces of ice ribbons disappear. I know this because I came back later with my "good" camera and all the frost weed had melted within two hours of seeing it that morning.

Just like the frost weed, sometimes I have felt misjudged and misrepresented. I have felt that I put out my best efforts of love and beauty to others in my actions and intentions, but the reaction was not what I had hoped for. Ever felt that way? We all hold true value. But people disappoint us. Our gifts to this world are so unique, just like each spiral and fold of the ice patterns that burst forth from the stem of the frost weed plant when it can't hold its contents in any longer. When we have a vision or idea or a new version of ourselves to offer the world, we rarely get the accolades we are anticipating. Rather, it's more like an accusing stare that implies, "How can you be so . . . ?" But if we are in tune with our life's mission, and God's guiding force in our life, then we know to "Stay in this place, until the current of the story is strong enough to pull you out," as the poet David Whyte says in his poem "Coleman's Bed." We remain as steady as we can on our divine course until people around us recognize the beauty and gifts we are offering and take a closer look. Suddenly we are not misunderstood. Suddenly we are not mistaken for the plastic bag littering the woods and are valued as a unique but fleeting moment of impact and beauty when taken a closer look at. And sometimes we don't wait on others to validate ourselves; we get to the point where it's enough to feel it and live it from the inside out. To positively identify with our own uniqueness. We believe in ourselves again, free from outside approval.

"Stay in this place, until the current of the story is strong enough to pull you out." Powerful words. We often have to sit in our aloneness until our outer story catches up with the inner life that is rich with uprising force and momentum. The other "players" in our life story (parents, children, spouses, lovers, bosses, friends, and even different parts of our own self) keep the "current" of our life stories moving, but at the pace that is governed ultimately by God's unique design. We cannot control the timing of the current or the lens with which others choose to see us. They are on their own journey as well, learning their own lessons just the same.

Now I anticipate frost weed every winter and am often not up and out in the woods early enough to catch sight of it. Therefore I only see it here and there. But I get a rush of pleasure when I do come upon it because not everyone sees this plant in action: forced by the cold temperatures to "create" beauty when it would be so much easier to stay warm and "in tact." Neat and tidy. Boring . . . but safe. I'm willing to let go and risk the cold forces of winter moving me (moving the current of my story) into a unique beauty instead of the warm lull of safety that an unchallenging life offers.

The Courage to Choose

"To have courage for whatever comes in life

---everything lies in that."

St. Teresa of Avila

I was at Fort Pickens Gulf Islands National Seashore this summer and was amazed at the contradictory sight of present-day, undisturbed beach and an old U.S. military fort built in the early 1830s. It was originally built to defend Pensacola Bay and its navy yard, and is one of four forts built in the South that was never occupied by Confederate forces during the Civil War (1861-65). I did wonder who was held captive there, though, and discovered that Geronimo, a leader of the Bedonkohe Apache tribe (Native American group from the Southwest), was held at Fort Pickens as a prisoner of war in October of 1886 for seven months while his family was held in another location (Fort Marion, now renamed Castillo de San Marcos in St. Augustine, FL). The doors in the picture above are at Fort Pickens, and it is likely Geronimo was inside one of these, paying his price for the freedoms he sought, which took the form of fighting against Mexico and the U.S., who wanted to expand into Apache tribal lands.

I look at these doors and they seem so thick, heavy, impenatrable, and if I was inside by force, as a prisoner, I just might have the will to fight, the will to live, knocked right out of me. But when there is a greater force driving someone, such as Geronimo's fierce loyalty to his tribal culture, often a courageous and daring spirit emerges that is willing to go the distance, no matter the end result. It is noted in history that Geronimo did come to embrace Christianity in his later years while still honoring the spirituality of his culture. Somehow, through his struggles, honor code, pain, and fighting, he still was open to the Spirit speaking to him and not shutting off his divine connection just because life got challenging.

These doors of uncertainty loudly echo the words of St. Teresa of Avila to me, "To have courage for whatever comes in life---everything lies in that." So many times I am faced with either looking at doors, which represent choices not yet made, or I am stuck inside doors, which represent the choices I have made and wish to improve upon or even change entirely. It takes courage to find where the keys are within myself to unlock and enter or unlock and be free. Where does one get this guidance that can make or break one's life course, or relationships, or careers?

Below is a poem I wrote to help me through this process of tapping into inner knowing. I hope this blesses you in a way that leads you to trust when you receive guidance.

The Understanding



I understood

the truth of my soul,

the voice of my ever-patient angel.

I understood.

But I was faithless.

The signposts pointed to a direction

I did not want to go.

I felt the tap,

then the pull,

then the push.

I was faithless in the free-fall.

I was rebellious in the resistance.

I pretended to prefer soul dissonance.

But all along I understood.

The new direction before me glowed and pulsed.

It held both the flame of destruction

and the warmth of the womb, ready for rebirth.

This paradox made me

untrusting

fearful

so I chose the familiar icy path instead.

I remained

frozen

still

unmoving

for a long time.

But I knew I could not hang on to life

untouched

unchanged

uncolored

unmoved.

I understood.

But I was faithless.

Life repeated itself in weary patterns.

Reminders that I was still

frozen

fearful

feigning fulfillment.

My God, my angel,

how patiently they persisted:

opening doors of hope,

whispering words in my heart,

speaking through ancient earth formations,

guiding me through dream scenarios,

and connecting me with like-minded soul friends.

I understood

what was taking place

all along.

Finally, I got too tired

to resist.

 My free-fall became a welcome letting go.

And in the silence of the wind that cradled me

as I went down,

I began to loosen the tight grip on

my expectations

my desires

my fears.

As I descended I became lighter,

which surprised my faithless heart.

Feeling lighter,

faith then filled me.

Its weightless energy drew me up,

overpowering the force of my free choice,

which had allowed me to go down,

down

into the moment of my greatest

struggle

with myself

to let go

of it all.

I knew I was safe.

I felt my angel near.

I surrendered to the moment.

I surrendered the rest of what I held on to

that weighed me down.

And I understood.

I always had.

© 2011 by Jenna Love