There is a slight lifting of the air so I can smell the earth for the first time, and yesterday I took possession of my life here.~May Sarton

In tenth grade I felt my way through geometry.  I made a B in that class, but I don't know how I passed.  I'd learn a concept, but then the construct would fly from my head.  Angles.  Points. Lines.  They all simultaneously perplexed and intrigued me.  I had a light bulb moment when I finally caught on to geometric sequencing...2, 6, 18, 54...a geometric progression with a common ratio of 3.  This concept makes me think of my life sequencing now, my life's progression.

I made a decision this week.  It was no earth-shattering decision, yet it was--in a way.  I threw out my eyebrow wigs.  I had no idea that eyebrow wigs even existed until I experienced losing my eyebrows during chemotherapy last year.  I'd bought them online, and when they arrived in the mail, I gently peeled the two brown, slightly curved segments from the tissue paper, applied some glue and pressed them above my eyes.  Instantly, I had expression on my face again.  I came to treasure those two strips of human hair.  They represented normalcy.  Wearing them caused me to feel secure, less vulnerable.  Even though my brows have grown back, they are not as thick and luxurious as the wigs.  I'd hung onto the fake ones, stuck to a round piece of cardboard that sat on my sink--that I looked at each morning when I brushed my teeth. 

But yesterday, I pulled the wigs from the cardboard and threw them in the trash.  Throwing away those light-weight strips of hair felt as if I'd lifted four tons of heaviness from my shoulders as I tied the plastic ties of the garbage bag together and pitched the wigs out with dried up bottles of nail polish and old eye shadow.  An ending.  Done.

I need endings. Allowing the pruning back.  Shedding the old, so that I can grow. Allowing the progression.  What is the common ratio for moving forward? 

Recently, I watched the memorial service held for my deceased sister who died almost one year ago.  Her life encompassed many dynamics.  She loved books and art and opera.  And God.  Person after person testified at the service that they felt authentically loved when in her presence.  At each season of her life, the common ratio was love.  At the end, love mattered most.  

Let me hold onto this principle.  Dear God, help me remember this construct.  Help me to let go when I need to.  Embrace lightness.  Be real.  Help me love more in the sequencing of my days as they blur forward.  I have this life.  God help me take possession.  Here.