Feeling Capable to Step into a new year in Faith, not Fear
Photo Credit Aaron Burden
"Just as a snake sheds its skin, we must shed our past over and over again."- Gautama Buddha
If I knew more about omens or symbols, I might have anticipated I was entering a time of massive transition after being visited by ten snakes beginning in March of 2023. Instead of being consumed with fear, I might have taken it all in stride, as messages from the Divine attempting to point me in a new direction.
I didn’t know that the life Mister and I were trying to create in Panama would completely unravel by the end of the year. I never imagined that finding health support, learning Spanish and getting a Panamanian driver’s license would be so challenging. I couldn’t have anticipated that the community we lived in would feel so isolated and unfulfilling. No foresight was granted of Mister’s decline after a nine-month remission from ulcerative colitis. Nothing prepared for my dog Lola’s long and difficult end of life transition.
My first snake sighting was a baby red coral slithering along the sliding doors of our home gym. A snake epidemic ensued, producing severe anxiety and panic attacks. I imagine that even those less averse to snakes than I would have recoiled if they’d discovered a four-foot, three inch in diameter fer-de-lance INSIDE their garage. Our experienced gardener, Rene, laid eyes on it and exclaimed, “mas mal!” before chopping it to smithereens. But my fears kept me from seeing the snake invasion as messages I didn’t want to hear; that we needed to leave Panama and start over somewhere else, to shed the skin of the past and start anew.
In May we attended a special event in Panama City, listening to numerous engaging presentations, including one from the Panama Stem Cell Institute. We thought perhaps we’d stumbled upon the solution to Mister’s health issues. It seemed to confirm that Panama was where we belonged. I felt our troubles, along with the snake-sightings, were a thing of the past.
Mister took a leap of faith and underwent stem cell therapy. Days after, Lola stopped eating. On July 31, she departed for dog heaven. I whispered in her deaf ears about the joys and freedom of spirit life, petting her gently as her body went still, while mine wracked with the grief and loss of a dearly loved companion. I told Mister I wasn’t happy, that I was languishing, and he agreed, something had to change. We just didn’t know what.
I got out a pad of paper and a pen and we made a list of priorities and four living options. A condo in Winnipeg (yes, one of Canada’s coldest cities and too long a story to explain in this post) scored the highest, but neither one of us felt ready to make such a huge shift, so we settled on the second choice, a condo in Panama City. We listed our home for sale and started searching.
In August, we found a condo that seemed a possibility. I finished my first draft of my fifth novel, a character driven psychological drama about a man tormented by mental illness. I was invited by El Hombre de la Mancha bookstore to attend FILPA, Panama’s international book fair. I dreamed of being discovered by an international publisher, but as it was, it was another low key, small sales event. I felt confused and led astray by my intuition. My dreams of creating the life I wanted, as a writer, living in Panama, seemed like seeds thrown in the desert, unable to take root.
When a toothache erupted, I found myself dreading having dental work done in Panama. I realized something important—if you don’t want to get your teeth fixed, be sick, or die in the country you live, you probably shouldn’t live there. My heart whisperings became louder and more insistent, calling me home. But I was still living in fear, unwilling to listen.
November 16, 2023 is a day I’ll never forget. Mister and I were caught up in another wave of despondency after not receiving the support we needed from his doctor. We turned to face one another, and in a flash of twin knowing, declared simultaneously and with absolute conviction, “we have to move to Canada, now.” With angel wings to guide us, we sat down at the dining room table, lap tops open, and with calm deliberation, we made it happen. We felt the shift. We were acting in faith.
Flights and two nights in a hotel in the city booked, a meeting with our good friend and property manager to go over the game plan arranged, we packed up what we could fit into eight pieces of luggage and prepared our home for indefinite non-occupancy. Our dear friend drove us to our hotel in the city. With tears of gratitude, we said farewell.
Travel day was grueling. Up early, an airport transfer, a lengthy trek to the old terminal. It was the first time in our history that I was ahead, having to stop and wait for Mister. We endured sardine-seat economy flights, a chaotic transfer in Cancun through customs security followed by a sweaty walk pushing heavy trollies in the heat to the shuttle bus. My spirits lifted briefly when the employee at the ticket counter, clearly driven by angel whispers, or perhaps the sheer exhaustion on our faces, tagged all our extra luggage at no charge.
At Canada Customs, I was elated to declare myself a resident, despite my fatigue. I was ready to reclaim the land of my birth; my culture, language and heritage. A brisk walk, heads down, biting artic winds. A taxi ride to Mister’s parent’s house. We were greeted with hugs and refreshments, but exhaustion claimed our weary bodies. We showered off the travel grunge and curled up into our cozy covers to try and recover, knowing we still had a mountain to climb—we just didn’t yet know how high.
The next morning, we met with a Commissioner of Oath to sign our residential agreement before returning home to complete our online application for Manitoba Health cards. An overnight bag packed, a few snacks and my insulin, we arrived at the hospital emergency department. At triage, we signed forms with our credit card information, agreeing to pay the $2500/day hospital charge if Mister was admitted and our health cards weren’t approved. We didn’t hesitate one second. We knew the situation was urgent and we had faith we would be supported.
The seven-hour wait in emergency was another resilience tester. Overcrowded and under-resourced, it was absolute mayhem. There were people who needed help with chronic conditions but didn’t have a family physician. Others needed mental health support. One woman directly behind us was loud and obnoxious, cursing f-bombs while criticizing the hospital staff and being a drama queen about her father’s situation. He had a gangrene infected leg complicated by uncontrolled diabetes, severe obesity, and smoking, but that didn’t stop the whole family from popping outside periodically for a cigarette, pushing Dad in his wheelchair.
When Mister was finally admitted, I was exhausted. I called his parents for a ride home, feeling caught between not wanting to stay and not wanting to go. I knew I had to prioritize my need for sleep over my emotional desire to stay by his side. I had no idea in that moment just how long a journey we had embarked upon.
A colonoscopy scheduled for first thing the next morning was delayed until evening, the first in a series of setbacks and disappointments. The results were devastating. The disease that had been restricted to only the lower part of his colon in June was now spread throughout. The photos revealed what we couldn’t see from the outside—it was severe.
The Gastro who performed the procedure recommended a double dose of the biologic Infliximab, but concerns from the Infectious Diseases department, because of us arriving from Panama, led to delays. Despite my frustrations, there were two silver linings: the infection concerns upgraded Mister to a private room, and our health cards were not only issued, they were backdated to the day we arrived in Canada.
What I had thought would be a one-week hospital stay turned into a five-week test of endurance. It was heart wrenching to witness my beloved’s suffering. A forty-pound weight loss, low blood pressure, low hemoglobin, discomfort and fatigue. On December 14, Mister had an ileostomy—a four-hour operation followed by four hours in recovery.
His ordeal didn’t end there. The weeks after surgery turned out to be a rollercoaster too. Difficulty with pain management was followed by gains in strength, mental acuity and motivation only to plummet into the Step-Down unit with a sepsis infection that was creating a blockage. On potent pain medications and suffering from delirium, Mister complimented a nurse and when she replied, “I’m just doing my job,” he disputed her comment, saying, “I’m not blowing sunshine!”
What blew me away most was how, throughout the hardest, longest ordeal of his life, Mister didn’t complain once. His attitude was one of gratitude. He lived in a state of grace that sprang from unconditional faith; that all was as it should be, that he was beheld, no matter what the outcome. He expressed appreciation to every hospital staff member, from floor attendant to nurse to doctor, at every opportunity.
My gifts were my strength and resilience to show up at the hospital every day, all day. I never lost faith that my love would survive, those words I heard in my head back in October on constant replay, “Dear Child, I didn’t move mountains to bring you together for it to end here.” Despite the comfort of that knowing, my prayers for my beloved’s suffering to end were not heard. On December 31, Mister was in pain and struggling to eat. A hollow emptiness inside me, I couldn’t toast to the new year. I felt alone, abandoned and forgotten by my Creator.
And yet, I wasn’t forgotten. Life didn’t unfold as I wanted it to. My prayers weren’t answered in the way I wanted. My beloved didn’t receive the miracle I thought was forthcoming. But he is alive, and he’s thriving. He has faith in a full recovery, and when he’s ready, to embark on the next chapter in our journey together.
We all have the freedom to choose our values, beliefs and perspectives; to manifest a life that is alignment with our goals and intentions. We might not be able to change our circumstance or situation, but we can choose how we think, feel and respond.
I believe we can choose between faith and fear. When you elect fear, you walk in dark energy. You hold onto negative stories. You are in a constant state of doing, always busy and distracted. Your focus is on material things. You create your own suffering; wallowing on past mistakes or worrying about the future. Actions stem from a lack of awareness and are ego-centered.
In contrast, when you live in faith, you are connected to the Divine consciousness; whatever name you give the creative force from which all life began. You listen to the wisdom and intuition inside you; a present being, attuned to what is, mindful and connected to the world around you. You seek truth, spread joy, and shine the radiant light that is your birthright.
Each of us moves between these two polarities and all the points in-between. When you recognize your ability to choose how you think and feel, you make decisions and take actions that support who you want to be. Each step you take will bring you closer to your destiny. Knowing this, how do you want to begin a new year? Will fear or faith guide the next chapter in the story of your life?
I know some of my dreams will come to pass and others won’t. There will be surprises I never could have imagined. I choose to stay open and curious. To live in unconditional faith. I’m going to create a life that feels purposeful, that is in service to humanity. I can glimpse a flicker of hope glowing from a street lamp somewhere in my future.
So yeah, I’m feeling capable to step into the new year in faith, not fear.
COMING UP…
Books & Projects:
· All four of my books are available online at Amazon, Chapters-Indigo and Barnes & Noble. You can also find them at select Chapters-Indigo and El Hombre de la Mancha bookstores.
· I just finished writing my fifth literary fiction, a psychological drama that explores the complexities of mental illness and trauma. Stay in touch by signing up for my blog or following me on social media to find out when it will be published.
Reviews & Interviews:
· You can read or watch a large selection of reviews and interviews on my website.
Events:
· There are no events currently scheduled in my calendar.
YouTube Channel:
· Watch The Rogue Scorpion trailer.
· Watch The Holding trailer.
· Watch The Healing trailer.