My mountain

There is an old bush in front of our home.

An enormous bush. 

It sits stubbornly in its spot, where it will remain 'til the end of time.

It's not just the height. It's that this bush is a dark sphere. Like an entire planet, right next to our dining room window.

Round, huge, monstrous.

The issue? 

Is that about once a year, this bush reveals to the neighborhood its need of a haircut at the very tip-top. Its wide sides are trimmed often, but its top is like a bad (terrible!) hairstyle that needs those split ends chopped off.

Only, even a ladder doesn't easily allow one to reach the center of this bad boy. 

The task becomes daunting.

I have the desire to pretty up this green monster- and I've found that trying to ignore it never seems to dissolve those awful split ends!

I appreciate when things look lovely. 

  But I've grown to be quietly obsessed with this monumental challenge.

I am tall. 

  But not that tall, to get it done on a whim.

I am not afraid of heights. 

  But I have a fear of falling backward. (Thank you, horrible repelling incident decades ago!)

On this hot July afternoon, it was time. 

This ragged bush needed to be reckoned with. No more noticing-and-forgetting to get the job done. No more mental complaining. Just time to tackle the beast. That mountain.

And as I grit my teeth and began to cut, it suddenly became emotional to me.

I could feel a burning in my eyes.

Suddenly,

the struggles that had been pressing in on my life took the shape of this awful green mass of branches.

This past month of July:

• Family decisions- uncertainties of the future.
• Choices of others- for better or worse.
• A lack of control over circumstances- adjusting as life kept coming at us.

And then my rehashing of last year's month of July:

• Holding in early news of our pregnancy- carrying joy and such emotion (and such sickness).
• BAM- News of my big sister's breast cancer. Initial worries and then sobs during the phone call that revealed the diagnosis.
• Another BAM- News of my father-in-law's leukemia. Sliding down onto our kitchen floor in disbelief.

It was a time of shock and processing and coping.

When life would never seem the same again.

So. 

This bush this afternoon... it transformed into something much bigger than it was. 

Much bigger than any neighbors or cars driving by could see.

It turned into my own personal battle to work through.

Seriously? Yep.

I tackled that thing like never before. 

Focused. 

Eyes narrowed, brows furrowed.

Arms reaching up with those long, worn garden shears in hand.

Tip-toed in my old $1 Walmart crocs, hands stretched as high as possible.

Grabbing for branches. 

Fierce in my chopping.

Sometimes even missing those bunches of evergreens, but never, never stopping.

Sweat was dripping down my face and neck, and prickly green bits were sticking to me. 

Dirt was clinging to my skin. 

And it all made me even more determined.

Scratch marks appeared on my arms, and it felt right. Like battle scars I was earning as I didn't give up. Chop.

In the physical work of chopping, my mind was racing through the strains and struggles and emotions of the past 12+months.

Tears would come, and then increased resolve.

Prayers, and then some inner pep talk conversations.

Tight lips of concentration, and then a tiny proud smile.

When I reached as high as I could to no success, 

I decided to push forward into the bush. That was, um, new. (Smart? Not sure.) But once I started, it felt good.

Like I was living a metaphor. Physically seeing a lesson being taught to my heart.

Pressing into the problem, pushing through the looming circumstances right up in my face. 

And so I stood, arms up with the shears from inside that mountain of a bush. Reaching like mad -with a wry smile- whenever the blades found success.

The bright sun of the early afternoon was blinding. I was a crazed branch-chopper who only wanted to fight harder. I couldn't see squat, but just dove forward and kept chopping at whatever I could connect with. 

Unable to see through the brash sun and sweating with needles jabbing all around me.

But the outer discomfort made sense with the inner battle going on.

It was so right. I didn't want to be anyplace else but in that jungle of a bush.

Thinking, feeling, facing head on.

As we (and our circle) have gone through some challenging circumstances these past few weeks, a family friend asked this question:
"What can we learn from this?"

And that thought has stayed near.
It's not just a processing of events and concerns we got through.
It's moving beyond that. "What can we learn from this?"

And so, in the middle of tackling this mountain of branches, my mind whirled with that question, over and over.

I couldn't give up.

I could have stopped chopping, 
and no one may have noticed what I had accomplished
and no one may have noticed where I had to just let the beyond-reach branches remain, imperfect and all.

But I was compelled.
To finish that task, to not be defeated.

Eventually and very grudgingly,
I had to retrieve the fancy ladder from the garage.
And then had to find the delicate balance of where to prop and rest that heavy silver thing so together "we" could reach the center of that giant green ball of a bush.

And when I got to the top of that shiny ladder, the task was (BAM) suddenly manageable. 
What was impossible and never-ending from below, 
What I strived for, over and over -with some success- to do on my own,
was completely different from above.


I had just wanted to accomplish the task without any help- just me.
But that had worked only a bit, and then failed me.

The new vantage point. 
Using a tool beyond myself. 
= Helped me finish that battle.

(What had gotten me through the shocks and trying times of the past year, current days included?)

It wasn't all easy with that ladder. It took determined effort yet.
It still took stretching and reaching and courage to push farther than safe.
But it worked.
That mountain of mine was reckoned with. At least for today.

A different vantage point? Deciding to use that tool to assist you the rest of the way?
What would that be for you?

To some of you, this seems ridiculous. 

A bush? Tears? Really?

But I know we each have our own daunting "thing" that looms in front of us, mocking and refusing to be ignored.

What would yours be? 
And what can you learn from it?

Somehow, chopping away at those prickly branches brought me through a journey of emotions and thoughts that had been tucked away for months...

• Sister's chemo, loss of hair, weariness and sickness. The whole shebang.
• Father-in-law treated in a hospital bed, weeks on end. Not sure what was next.
• Other circumstances out of our grasp that have angered and saddened and discouraged.
• Life sometimes seeming overwhelming in the day by day.

But these moments of sweat-drenched hacking at pine needles grew to reveal the okayness of feeling weak and pained. 
And that personally choosing to step into the challenge and the pushing through of the yuck and ugliness from the scratches on my skin and dirt combined with sweat and pine needles sticking to my hair was worth it... because conquering that mountain meant something to me.

Proud. A good proud.

Blessings,
Elizabeth


(The funny, haha, thing? 
As I was just about to wrap up my chopping afternoon, a cherry picker type truck drives on by. Without a care in the world, just driving on down the road, somehow laughing at the ordeal I had put myself through that past hour. Groaning, straining, strategizing. Where this cherry picker could have nailed this trim job in 2 minutes flat. Smooth sailing. Geez.

...But the job got taken care of- with a whole lot of heart.)