The Cocoon
Published in Decision Magazine © 1988
I've trapped myself into this
one, I complained to myself. if only I had planned ahead...called earlier in the
week.
NO ONE
HOME! seemed to echo
back after six or seven rings at the other end of the line. Each additional attempt at telephone calls
began to build my frustration.
Only one
of several calls had been fruitful, but the people were so busy they could not
make the ten-mile trip to pick me up.
The rest of the one-sided attempt reminded me that friends were either
at family celebrations or out of town for the holiday.
I was stranded. His orders had been strict -- NO DRIVING! The doctor had sternly advised that the
surgery on my shoulder would be useless if I damaged it before it healed.
Even the singles' dinner after the morning
Thanksgiving service was out of reach.
Letting out a big sigh, I watched
the afternoon breeze wave the palm trees outside my front windows. The rays of bright sunshine failed to
penetrate my loneliness. There, in the
middle of a window pane, was a single cocoon, spun while I was away in the
hospital. As I watched the wind nudge
him back and forth, it seemed as
if its own lonely existence mocked my own and that served to only deepen my
depression.
"Thanksgiving," I heard a
radio announcer say in the background, "A time of family togetherness...a
time of good food, eating, and cheer."
I
knew he was reading from a script, but I was growing tired of hearing what
Thanksgiving was supposed to be like. And I hated him for that.
I stood there for a long time watching the red second hand of my kitchen
clock creep relentlessly around a face that now showed dinner time. Almost as a matter of habit I pulled a frozen
dinner out of the freezer and shoved it into the toaster oven.
On my way to the easy chair, I
finally silenced the announcer before he could start another cheery speal. There wasn't much on TV and the last thing I
wanted to watch was holiday parades and hear about the fun everyone else was
having.
I plugged in a cassette of
Christmas carols. Perhaps the change of
music would take the edge off the holiday blues that threatened to drag me
deeper into its clutches.
Feeling sorry for myself, I dropped
with a thud into the chair and allowed the lush music to fill the room. But the sounds of a choir singing "Joyful,
Joyful, We Adore Thee"
clashed with
my present circumstances. Now I had no
where to run.
My eyes strayed across the small
apartment I loosely called "home."
A madcap array of magazines, books and unopened mail mirrored futile
attempts at one-armed housekeeping.
Plastic hospital equipment and medicine bottles lay strewn across the
dinette table. Dishes overflowed the
sink and grew into a mountain on the counter.
A checkbook and calculator made an odd-couple,
married to battle the mounting stack of unpaid bills and meager Christmas
list. Even the fish tank gurgled
uselessly atop the TV set. Though filled
with water, the last aquatic inhabitant had expired while I
was away in the hospital the previous week.
Then my heart received a jolt which
gave birth to deep despair. Smiling back
from a gold-framed picture atop the stereo was a trio of smiling children. To these kids I would never be more than a part-time
parent. Divorce had ripped apart a
family that should be gathered around my table.
All of the unanswered "whys" of the past two years clawed at
the corners of my mind. Independence and
spiritual confidence fluttered away as that old familiar feeling of being
shuffled around on a divine chessboard covered me like a fog.
Oh, God,...I thought I was
past all this! I thought we had buried
these old hurts. Must this holiday be
another time for them to come out and breathe once more?
As my shirt dampened with tears, a
calm voice spoke from within a secret chamber of my heart. Here in times past, I had often invited the
Psalmist to sit and share the anguish of his stormy days. It seemed as if he were the only one who
could understand my bouts with despair as I listened to the agony of his
soul. He was familiar with those paths
of hurt I now trod
in the valley
of loneliness.
And yet the lessons he
learned in those hours of personal pain seemed to give me a spark of hope that
someday I too would walk in the light; that laughter would again flow from a
bubbling heart that had been clogged by rejection and self pity. Bounding off those tender heart walls, his
words now admonished, "Be still...trust...wait."
Quietly, and with a gentle
overwhelming power, came new words, "Look around you again."
Through my tears I focused first on the blue
Cookie Monster cookie jar, with bulging black eyes, which commanded the top of
the kitchen counter. One distant
Christmas morning it had been a gift from some dear friends. That same couple had recently expressed their
continued concern by visiting me in the hospital.
Then there were the curios of a
recent trip to Haiti. Millions around
the globe this day would continue to starve without the benefit of even a
single crust of bread. While my TV dinner was
no feast, its feisty aroma reminded me I was blessed indeed.
Even the hospital equipment brought
back memories of a room-mate who, following a near fatal car crash, had for
seven weeks been strapped in a prison of sheets and traction equipment. While my injured shoulder was temporarily an
inconvenient handicap, this man stood a good chance of never walking again.
But my tears turned to drops of
crystalline thankfulness as I gazed at the bouquet of red, pink and white
carnations by the children's picture.
Tiny hands had eagerly delivered them in crumpled green paper to my
hospital room. Almost at the end of
their life expectancy, they still seemed to shout, "Daddy, we love
you!"
My children had never been
kept from me. While my ex-spouse had
remarried, dashing all hopes of reconciliation, she had
always allowed me to be with my children as often as I could manage. They still knew their father loved them and I cherished
every moment I spent with them.
As a repentant spirit rose up within
me my depression began to flow away with the tears. "Forgive me, Lord, for complaining. How easy it is to let my mind feed on the
things I do not have. Forgive me once
again for demanding answers to my questions and changes in my
circumstances. I'm sorry for forgetting
the promise of Your presence in the midst of difficult times."
I had discovered, in those few
moments, that the very objects which fueled my loneliness were transformed
into trophies of God's care and faithfulness.
They had not altered physically, but MY inner focus had
changed. Each one could now be regarded
as a stepping stone of growth in Christ since the days I had despaired of life
itself. With voices of another melody,
my mementos now sang volumes about God's grace.
Even that lonely cocoon was not
silent as it now hung motionless on the dirty window pane. The drab twig and silk sarcophagus faced a
winter of chilling wind, but life was not dead inside that tiny chamber. Alone and dormant, it was going through
change. God, in His infinite wisdom, was
using the isolation of time to change that ugly caterpillar into a creature of
beauty that would one day soar in the glory of spring.
My lips moved as the thoughts of my
heart tumbled out. "God, thank you
for my present 'cocoon.' Help me to keep
my eyes fixed on You and Your springtime which lies ahead."
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