Surrender Through the Lens of Thanksgiving

We bought a turkey on Saturday for Thanksgiving and felt a little grumpy. Already exhausted, I let the idea of cooking a large dinner overshadow my usual gratitude for this special meal. “You are in charge of cooking this year,” I suddenly declared to my sons. “No problem,” they said, “as long as you remind us what to do.” I felt a little better keeping family dinner traditions alive by surrendering the torch.

Last week, my exploration of surrendering through recent experiences brought a basic understanding, so I surmised that looking back on this past year through the lens of Thanksgiving might bring deeper realizations. In truth, this year brought out both the worst and best in me, creating a somewhat divided exploration.

The worst this year saw struggle and agony, physically and spiritually. My bones literally felt like lead; I remember shaking my head to clear the cobwebs. I felt limited in almost every way expecially knowing I was an unhealed healer. This was surely the definition of agony. I think back on how I literally hung onto the railing with both hands forcing each leg up the five steps to the main house where I was participating in a spiritual retreat. How many healers struggle with healing themselves? What kind of healer am I?

As my autoimmune disease took its toll, it tried to smother the mystical breakthroughs I had experienced the year before as most of my attention went to living with it, not doing the spiritual work that leads to breakthroughs. This disease humbled me completely, yet a year later I am most grateful. Why? Through it all, I was completely certain I would recover, and that there was something important to know about it intuitively and literally. It marked the beginning of a remarkable surrender.

Whether sick or recovering, seeing the bigger picture of surrender to me meant to flow with life and develop a deep intuition while living powerfully as a spiritual being. Last week (How Are We Supposed to Stop Fighting?) I struggled with doing just that, as I used some life experiences to show me just how much I hadn’t surrendered. In the end, there was a breakthrough, as I comprehended the first layer of surrender.

I came across a masterful description that captured that first layer. “I want to be increasingly able not to clench, obsess, overthink, overcontrol, fight with my life, or let my stubborn streak obstruct my spiritual expansion.”1 To that list I added “and become increasingly physically well!” That statement is hard to say when one is in the middle of an illness, but it is a sincere statement of intent from the depths of my heart and soul.

Surrender was not at all what I thought it was. How fitting that day-to-day life obliges us in our quest for inner growth by throwing us back into experiences to see how far we’ve come in actual surrendering. Lately my illness has flared up, causing fatigue, sore bones, some brain fog, and a feeling of unwell-ness. The question of how one surrenders to an illness was front and center in my thoughts as I continued to understand.

The best of this year, with its complex questions and physical trials, made me want to get deeper into what was going on inside me. Creative projects were a welcome break when pressures got too much or my exploration stalled. As I surrendered to the creative process, my thoughts grew into chapbooks based on three of the major themes from my first book. At first, it was more prose than poetry, but as I progressed, it turned into poetry, and the joy of determining where to end a line and not worrying about punctuation. Seeing through poetry’s senses is a moving experience, for the muse takes your hand as you walk into the unknown. She is truth and beauty, rage and love, wonder and grit, seeking to express itself through this experience we call human existence.

I learned to celebrate the small wins, the light in the darkness, the time spent in gratitude for the life and health I have. I do not feel like a sick person anymore; I am a recovering person. In recovering, I am encouraged to reach deeply into my body to listen. As I listen, I am increasingly aware of a depth I didn’t have before in my writing. I have so much joy in being able to write. Surrendering each day to what wants to be written, words flow from my fingers to the keyboard. It always brings me to an awareness I didn’t have before, or a thought that sparkles like a jewel.

For example, tonight I watched a movie about a young Jewish girl who stayed hidden from the Nazis for two years, not knowing where her parents were or if they were even alive. It’s a poignant story told by a grandmother to her grandson. She explains the depth that kindness played in her life, as strangers helped each other with small gestures in very difficult circumstances. As the characters in the movie enjoyed a birthday with chocolate purchased from saved rations, they celebrated the moment, the present. In the end, the grandmother says, “Only the light can drive out the darkness,”2 meaning that the light that shines in each of us is what recognizes the light in others.

The best of me this year is elusive, but as the movie pointed out, even in the darkest days of Nazi-occupied France, there was joy, love, kindness, and beauty to experience and hold on to. Perhaps we can also choose an attitude of thankfulness so that even through illnesses, and tough, fractured, unpredictable times, we can shine our light.

This weekend as we Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving, it feels a little different to me. Yes, I’m thankful for the wonderful country I live in, my nerdy and caring family, and for the opportunity to write and evolve. Even when you have difficulty seeing what to be happy about in front of you, like an illness, isn’t it surrendering to the unknown, the possibility, the dream, still something to be happy about and grateful for?

From daily experiences, I learned about the first stages of surrendering as described in last week’s post. By looking at the broader picture, finding joy in poetry, and even a movie, I learned to come back to the present moment, a good second stage of surrender, but surrendering to the unknown? That concept caused instant resistance within me. My heart lurched as I sucked in a realization with my next breath.

The concept of surrendering to the unknown was not really surrendering, as it was me doing something, the opposite of getting out of my own way. It was in choosing to surrender self-will to a higher will that brought me to an intuitive state. In this state, I surrendered my Thanksgiving cooking duties to my sons. I exhaled with joy; my shoulders relaxed. They are wonderful cooks, and I can’t wait to enjoy what they create.

1. Judith Orloff, M.D., The Ecstasy of Surrender: 12 Surprising Ways Letting Go Can Empower Your Life, (Baltimore: 2014), xi.

2. Movie based on the book by R. J. Palacio, White Bird: A Wonder Story, (Alfred A. Knopf, 2019) Netflix