The Christmas Lilly

I have a close friend who has been going through chemotherapy for the last few months. For many years we have shared all the gory details of our lives with each other, and in doing so, have continued to grow closer and closer. Slowly building the sort of trust that money could never buy.

It hasn't always been plain sailing. For my part there have been times when I was lazy and selfish, not investing in the friendship nor giving back that which I had been so generously given. With any sort of relationship comes the burden of responsibility and expectation. At times I was found very much wanting. There was even a point, perhaps in my own arrogance, where I decided I didn't really need this friendship. My life was going so well  and I felt it was becoming too much work, I rationalised my lack of effort by blaming her expectations as being too much of a burden.

Funny how a few years later when my world came crashing down around my ears she was the first person I thought of, and the first person I reached out to. Such was her quality that in spite of my own abandonment and betrayal of such a precious gift, she was there for me, 100%

It's moments like these that are our greatest teachers. They teach you about yourself, and they teach you about others. Sometimes giving love feels very easy. It pours from your heart like waterfall over the face of a cliff. Other times though, you have to really work at it. You need to fill the bucket with water, and trek miles over barren desert in order to deliver the payload. Then you watch your small bucket of love evaporate into the sand like it was never even there. So you take the trek back across the desert to your heart, maybe try to find a bigger bucket,  and begin again.

The lesson I learnt, was that whether your love feels like a waterfall, or whether it feels like you are hauling buckets of water across the face of the Sahara desert, you need to understand it's not just about you. If you both value and honour the plant you are watering, you will do it, no matter how hard it feels inside.

I have a Christmas Lilly growing at the front of my house. It is shielded from the rain, so unless I water it regularly, it will die of thirst. It was given to me by my mum and step-dad a few years ago, at a time when I had re-established a fragile relationship with them. That relationship exists no more and I will only say I am very much at peace with this: Wisdom is knowing when things are beyond your control. However, the year after I was given the Lilly it flowered, and then over the winter months it died. I was not sure if it was negligence on my part or the harsh conditions that killed it, but either way I pulled it from the earth and thought I would never see it again. But in spring small Christmas lilies started to grow from the otherwise barren ground. I was so surprised that I watered them with great enthusiasm and the following Christmas they flowered again, even more beautiful than the year before. 

It is quite an effort to keep the Lilly from dying over the summer months. The ground dries and turns to dust very quickly. But it really means something to me. Keeping this plant alive has become deeply symbolic: To let go of bitterness from my own heart; to remember and honour love that was once given; and to look towards the future with belief that love will rise again if you tend to it diligently.

My friend who has cancer fights a fierce battle that comes on many fronts. She lives with the physical betrayal of her own body, and she lives with the brutal side affects of the chemical treatments. Those side affects are more than just physical, they mess your your brain chemistry and hormones. The emotional trauma is every bit as bad and perhaps worse than the physical suffering. On top of all of this, the challenges of her everyday life are multiplied ten-fold. With all this going on, she is still my friend, and by that I mean she still works to support me and the personal challenges I face in my own life, even when they pale to triviality in comparison to what she is going through.

I have realised that my responsibility to her, and what she is going through right now is also the gift I earned over many years. In spite of my failings I did water the plant and it grew strong enough to survive. Maybe others would not have, and this one is as strong as it is beautiful. Perhaps I am luckier than I deserve.

The purpose of this post is twofold: To impart wisdom learnt from my own life experiences, and to acknowledge a beautiful and rare friendship, one that I hope and pray will not be taken from me for many years to come. For my part, I must do better to water it, while I still can.