Finding Sanctuary

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A Specimen From My Sanctuary

According to Webster’s unabridged dictionary (1913), a sanctuary is by definition a sacred and inviolable asylum; a place of refuge and protection; shelter.  Other definitions also refer to it as a place of holiness, where sacred relics are kept in religious churches and temples.  I’ve been thinking about this word a lot lately.  Now that I am a cancer warrior, it seems most of my days are spent fighting cancer cells, fending off the spears of depression, blocking the arrows of low self esteem, and rolling with the punches of all the side effects that can’t be helped.  It’s a full battle schedule for me every single day, and frankly, it’s beyond exhausting.  So, how do I find sanctuary amidst the war?

For me, finding sanctuary does not mean going to church.  I believe faith has been an extremely important ally in my fight, but faith for me is very personal.  I spent my entire childhood and teenage years being heavily involved in an evangelical church, and although I am thankful for many of the friendships and life lessons I acquired, that atmosphere no longer appeals to me.  This is not to say that I have abandoned my faith by any means.  In fact, being away from the organized side of religion has helped me to truly reflect on my own personal faith in God and understand what it means to me, not what others think it means. I’ve come to learn that there is goodness and beauty in all things, regardless of religion.

Kris Carr, writer of Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips, a must-read if you’re a cancer fighter, talks about creating a peaceful place where you can go to meditate, pray, breathe, or even just sit.  Carr’s space was set up like a shrine – a table with candles, photos of her loved ones, incense, some crosses, and even a little statue of Buddha.  When I first read her section on this topic, I thought to myself, no way am I making something like that.  That’s way too “new-agey” for me. So I continued my nightly prayers and moved onto the next chapter, but something changed when my mom came for a visit.

My mother is tiny French Canadian woman with Native American roots. She has proverbial balls of steel, the strength of a bull, and a very green thumb.  For as long as I can remember, she has spent every Spring, Summer, and Fall buried knee deep in her garden.  When I was a kid, I didn’t understand why she spent so much time tending to each and every crevice of her botanical world.  Although I enjoyed looking at her gardens and showing them off to my friends, I didn’t get my mom’s passion for her beloved greenery until I was about 20.  Before I moved to California, I had the opportunity to grow a few of my own gardens in the rich soil of Western Massachusetts, but it was short lived.  Moving westward where homes aren’t affordable meant reverting back to apartment living.  No land.  No garden.

When my mom came to visit me for my first chemotherapy treatment, she planted the first seeds of what would eventually become my sanctuary.  She potted a number of colorful spring flowers in a long planter on my patio.  I’d nurtured a few green plants over the years, but nothing with flowers.  Like I’ve said before, I’ve always been a busy gal – I didn’t have the time to maintain lots of potted plants.  But, now that I found myself on medical leave with more time to myself than I knew what to do with, I saw the opportunity to start growing my very own place of refuge.

In the past couple months, my patio has become home to over 10 varieties of flowers, 4 kinds of herbs, 2 trees of the palm family, a cactus,  trinkets, statues, and a wind chime.  I am my mother’s daughter.

I didn’t build my sanctuary intentionally.  I devoted time to creating my garden because it was something to keep me busy.  It was a positive use of my energy.  It feels wonderful to create life while I’m in the middle of fighting for mine.  I may not feel close to God when I’m inside of a church, but I feel Him all around me when I am surrounded by nature.  It’s how I find my peace, how I find healing.  The bright colors of flowers contrasting against the fresh greens remind me how beautiful this earth is.  Even the simplest life, a thing that only requires sunlight and water, is sacred.

So I may not have crosses and Buddhas all over my sanctuary, but I don’t think I need them.  God is in the floral Eden that surrounds me every day when I sit in my wicker chair on my patio in my little potted garden. My sanctuary is a garden my mother started and I nurtured.

No matter how dark my world gets, no matter how sick I feel, when I sit here life is beautiful.

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Tags: cancer, chemotherapy, flowers, garden, hodgkin's lymphoma, llana barron