Propelled. That’s the only word that seems to capture my experience these days. Ever since I became sick last spring and started on the long road to recovery, I have felt carried by a force not my own. I think it must be prayers but even that doesn’t seem to explain it. There is a force at work, not of me and not human, that seems to be driving me and I just follow. Some days, like today, bring not just one, but many wonderful surprises, most often in the form of meeting friends, old and new, and wonderful conversations and discoveries. Sometimes there are no people involved, but a meeting with nature. I’ve never noticed the natural world so closely. Today there was a moment when both came together at once. I “bumped” into a friend from church and as I talked with her and told her my story I was almost distracted by the beauty of the plants behind her. Her joy at meeting me unexpectedly and my joy in sharing with her seemed like a complete moment in time. It was one of those moments we seek to create but never can on our own. These moments only come when they choose to, or when perhaps God or nature aligns in such a way that they are knit together effortlessly, laid out for our enjoyment.

Joy is a word I think about a lot now. I am attracted to it. I read about saints and other holy people who experience joy and I wonder if that is what I am experiencing. I still don’t know the source of my illness but there is something in me that has released my ability to control whatever it is. I suppose when you release control you experience joy. I think that is what the saints experienced. Those mystics long ago who spent hours in prayer were releasing their control of the world to God and they often found joy and even laughter.

These moments I experience probably seem small and unremarkable to other people, but to me they are miraculous intersections of people and love in space and time. There was a time a few months ago when I asked God to stop. It seemed like I couldn’t take in all He was showing me. Now I wonder if it is a permanent state of being. Or, maybe it is just a temporary phase of life. I can’t say for sure.

About a week ago I learned that my biological grandmother, whom I’ve never met, died. My birthmother, whom I’ve never met either, sent me a picture of my grandmother waving goodbye. I looked at her face and I saw my face, at age 90+. I saw a tenderness in that face, the look of someone well-loved. Her name was Esther and she suffered from Alzheimer’s for many years and was cared for by my biological mother. I’ve been around quite a few elderly people and there is a quality in some of them that seems like a softening, like all the hard parts have disappeared as they’ve lost control of their world and accepted their new self. Other older people fight against the loss until the end. But those who don’t exhibit a quiet kind of peace. When I saw the photo of Esther I felt I could understand her just a tiny bit. At least in that photo she seemed at peace. And perhaps that is not unlike what I feel too these days. Released, propelled and at peace.