I have had some awful experiences in my life and endured pain, but I have also found joy and experienced contentment.
When I was a young child, I lived in India. I was much loved by my parents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles — a whole extended family. Then we moved to America when I was three years old.
My father came over first. I was very attached to him and I became so sick from missing him that I was bedridden for weeks. I refused to eat. He sent me a doll from America, and this made me happier because when I held it I felt he was near me.
Then when Dad had found a place for us, we moved to America, but I didn’t fit in, even in New York City, which was filled with immigrants.
I spoke English with a British/Indian accent, and the other kids at school made fun of me. No one wanted to be my friends. Eccentricities that had been accepted in India were not accepted in New York. I wasn’t fashionable, and I was a vegetarian. So I couldn’t eat the school lunches. Instead, I brought home food from home, and because it was considered odd, that was another reason I didn’t fit in.
Also, we were poor. In India, my family was well off. In America, we were, at best, working class, at least to start with. We lived in a tiny apartment that just had three small rooms — a bedroom, a tiny living area, and a kitchen. There was no bathtub, just a shower stall, small sink, and toilet in the bathroom.
When I was in the first grade, I was bullied by one of the other girls. She took an instant dislike to me for some reason. One day she brought a knife to school and threatened to stab me. I told my mother.
The next day my mother came to school and confronted the principle. She would not back down until he agreed to remove the girl from my class.
Throughout all of this, I was missing my family and friends that were back in India. I missed the gardens and the parks, the lovely large apartment we’d lived in, the sounds and scents. I missed the flowers and my best friend. And I remembered those things clearly. I used to have a good memory, and I recollect things from when I was 2 years old.
I could have been a sad child, but I wasn’t.
Because no matter what was going on in my life, I was able to find joy in the situation.
When I had a hard time making friends with children my own age, I made friends with kind adults. There was a teacher at my nursery school that let me tell her story after story, which I would make up using the magnetic colored letters and numbers on a board as characters.
There were also books.
Once I learned to read, I found escape in a rich fantasy world. Reading opened my mind and gave me solace. I was never unhappy when I had a book in my hand.
I also loved nature.
Even though we lived in a city, a concrete jungle, I took joy in the small, charming things around me — the flower growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, or the butterflies in my backyard. I fed the squirrels and birds, and made friends with dogs. When I walked to the library (when I was older) I enjoyed the trees that lined the street it was on. In the spring, they had lovely flowers and I’d stop and bring a branch down to smell the sweet fragrance. I’d look for patches of blue sky caught between the buildings that rose above me.
I think I’ve always had the ability to find joy in my life no matter how horrible things become.
That has stood me in good stead now, as I am fighting a metastatic brain, liver, and lung cancer. It’s not that I am always happy — I am not. There are times I am angry at God, times I drift into melancholy and times that I cry. It’s only natural, given what I’ve been dealing with, and I don’t try to put on a happy face. Yet, what surprises many people is how happy I am.
I can no longer travel, and I used to love to travel. I can no longer hike, and I used to love to do that. Fortunately I can still read, paint, cook, listen to music… I have a bird feeder outside my window, and it gives me joy to see the birds (and the occasional squirrel!) come and eat. I have observed a cardinal couple bring their fledglings by and show them how to eat, putting seeds into their mouths, and this gives me joy.
I have lost friends who could not be bothered with me once I got sick, but I also discovered the friends who truly love me. This has been a blessing to me.
Life is precious. Watching nature — the birds, the trees, the flowers — all life is ephemeral. My honeysuckle smells so sweet but it is ephemeral. My irises are gorgeous, clothed in royal purple, but the blooms live just a short time.
When I see their beauty, I am reminded of Matthew 6:28–30:
See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?
This reminds me that as precious as these flowers are, I am also precious to God and that no matter how hard life sometimes seems, there is joy in the journey because I am loved. If all the world rejects me, still I am loved. And knowing this gives me the freedom to be who I am, without fear.
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This post was previously published on Shefali O’Hara’s blog.
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