Last night, I had a little time to waste. (OK, I DIDN'T have a little time to waste, but I took it anyway.) I was working on some piano studio stuff on the computer, and I clicked over to my blog, wondering if the weather was as yucky last year as it has been this year. (The answer to that is yes, it was terrible.) I got caught up in looking at my spring pictures-of-the-day, and felt very nostalgic. It seemed like a long long time ago that Ben turned three, Kate turned seven, we had snow in April, then in May (oh wait, that was this year, too), that I began to find the beauty in my new life and stop trying to live in the past. My words sounded sweet to me, hopeful, peaceful.
I sat for a while, thinking that the spring of 2010 seemed honey-colored in retrospect, and I yearned for that sweetness, wondering why it felt so far away.
And then I remembered. I REMEMBERED. How could I have forgotten??? How could I have forgotten for even those few minutes? That spring WAS sweet, despite its chill. It was blessed and holy and sacred. Only a week into June, our world would shatter into a million pieces, and looking back, I think the Lord was giving all of us a gift of peace before the tragedy.
It's been quite a year, hasn't it? I have a tendency to try to gather my life into neat little categories, to create stories with beginnings, middle & endings out of the ins and outs of daily happenings. I'd like to say I understand what God's been doing with us, that I see the end from the beginning, but I don't. I know less than I did a year ago, but I also know more. I trust more, but expect things to work out as I expect less. I feel more fragile, but also stronger. I have felt immense pain and immense peace. I have been carefully held in the palm of His hand, and also cast out into the deep water alone.
But mostly, I feel grateful. We are surrounded by beauty and love and goodness. We are all capable of doing hard things. We can hang on through the darkness and wait for the light to shine. It does shine, eventually.