Open my heart

The storm is over. I like the sound and feel of “the calm after the storm.” The air is cleaner and the earth is renewed. All the animals have returned. Did you know birds and cats and other animals have fine senses which tell them a storm is coming and to take cover?

Cornell Ornithology Department says this about what birds do long before the hurricane or tornado arrives:

Different birds use different ways to wait out a storm. Birds that normally roost in a cavity—such as chickadees, small owls, woodpeckers—hide out in their cavity. Birds that roost on branches, such as jays, sparrows, cardinals, crows, etc, tend to perch on a thick branch very close to the trunk. When these songbirds (also called “perching birds”) are relaxed, their feet grasp automatically, so they can sleep while tightly clasping the branch.

And about cats: the most probable reason for cats sensing a storm is due to their incredibly finely tuned senses. Cats can become aware of changes in atmospheric pressure. Air pressure changes before a storm…A cat’s ears are particularly sensitive to changes in barometric pressure.

So how about humans? How do we take cover in the midst of a storm? Do we hold on to the lower branches or do we find a cavity to hide out in? Can we discern the atmospheric changes in our lives? After this storm, debris from the trees is everywhere and power lines are down. Storms are never easy and they always leave something behind–be it physically or psychically.

For the last 9 months I have faced some storms of health, and then afterwards healing. I have learned that I both roost on the lower branches and sometimes tuck into a cavity to hide. Doctors and technicians have probed me and searched for the cause for this atypical stroke. After 6 months of tests and meetings with some of the best minds of my NYU medical team we have come up with one thing. There is the tiny hole in my heart that has been there since my birth. It never closed after the lungs were developed. It is my hope that it will remain open.

I hear the geese flying over, calling in harsh tones that the storm is over and they are heading home. Another season is past. I feel stronger for having weathered this storm. This melancholy will give way to a new season. Any uncertainty will be tucked away not to become rigid or perfect, but to embrace the power of our loving God and creation. I am attached to the living branch and able to sleep even while tightly clasping.

( Photo by Ellen Paull.)