It's a new season coming alive as I throw open the windows and shake loose the stale from having had the flu. Fluffing clean sheets and creating a new space of fresh and clean. Breathing deeply of spring air. Suddenly gone a season of snow and cold. And being unwell beneath the covers.
Padding around today in my socks and slippers subsisting on warm applesauce; the landscape beginning to change.
And I welcome it. I love the seasons. I love change.
Or at least I think I do.
Until change morphs into something ugly or scary. And I want to run away. Or hide.
Because it has been a paradigm shift for me this year. Dealing with change. And to be honest. I want normal back. Some days.
To run again. And go to the gym. And be with old friends. Surrounded by people who know me well. And life full of the familiar.
But here I am in the uncomfortable. Of not knowing. And having to decide. Moving forward into new things. A change in perception even.
But this I am learning. Change never stops. And sometimes it's just not as pretty as the seasons. We have to battle. But I am learning to fight better.
So this morning I was delighted to preview Shauna's new book. It's release day for Savor; her fourth. In one line that quickly grabbed my attention, she wrote of herself and others "plunging ahead full of fear and vulnerability".
How it resonated in my life. We are not alone in our struggles.
And fear does not preclude our doing things.
Shauna has just returned from a trip to Israel and will have many good stories to share on her blog. Looking forward to it. But we all have a story.
And mine is that of an empty nester loving photography and all things written and my man and our children. Coming home to a house full of cozy warm where I can cocoon with the flu and, on other days, throw open my doors and welcome joyfully around our table.
But that is not all. Struggles too.
And through my life and a blog. Sharing them. To encourage.
And so I push publish even when I cringe.
And I am recently choosing a new adventure.
Because when the paradigm shifts we can choose to embrace it.
Plunging ahead in the fear and the vulnerability.
And really. That's the only way to live life.
Don't you think.
I think about it a lot. The bittersweet.
And I'm not talking about the saccharin kind; a movie or a book tying up everything
perfectly in the end and you feeling manipulated for having cried or angry for having watched. Anything Jane Austen maybe the exception.
But the truest form. Of bittersweet.
I experienced yesterday.
Hear me in that it has been a hard season - almost a year - my back stabbing with pain and sidelining me for months. Procedures and therapy and now maybe even the surgery unsuccessful. A day falling hard. Hope diminished. Disappearing even. The view from my window moving swiftly from winter-lingering beauty to stark reality and me catching my breath. Unable to accept more disappointment. Unable to understand the whys. Wanting my life back.
And I knew then and I know now others have worse. But for me, right now, it is taking my breath. For the pain and the fear that it will never go away.
In the anguish, the dishevel, the bitter - not the sweet, a friend offers to bring over lunch. And I caution loudly; probably not a good time. For her that is. But she is resolute and simply undeterred by my warnings of ugly.
Showing up shortly with a large brown paper bag brimming with Chipotle and throwing arms around me. An incredibly sweet moment. And then the food and the telling and the listening beginning to unfold those edges of despair lurking within.
Yes. Sweet.
Oh, she would deny and find funny that of being sweetness. To my bitter.
But she does the hard stuff. Listening to the pain yelping; coming out sideways and backwards and confused. But understanding. It's just pain talking. Helping to push me through to find healing in the connection and in the grace. Helping me upright, regain perspective and birthing me back into hope.
Because life is often bitter. Sometimes these experiences, the hard times, are later described as a gift. But not today. Not when the wound is deep and angry and healing seems far away.
Isn't that what all good stories are made of? The bittersweet?
The telling of a protagonist having to overcome conflict. Struggle always part of story. And we relate and are inspired. The reason stories are life changing. Helping us know how to live.
But when it hits us. In real time. The story looks different.
The bitter making us stronger but almost needing a narrator to get us out of our own story to see the picture better. And our story good too. Just not finished yet. And that adversity - the bittersweet of life teaching if we allow. Within community.
Community. A recurring theme for me. The search for and the sacrifice required worth helping another through adversity. Connection healing me.
This is why I scribble grace. Because I know the answer in this life.
But sometimes I can't find it.
Lives often so fractured when close friends and family move away. And though their story and adventure is to be celebrated and embraced, those left behind must find a new normal. A new friend. A new community. Those things taking time and commitment and transparency within grace.
In order to be known in the ugly and in the real. And loved anyway.
I thought later. How is it that someone can show up and see my messy and not be afraid of me? That I am too much or not enough. All at the same time.
It is a challenge. A discipline even. To come alongside someone else in their hurt. Or to be vulnerable within our own story. To embrace the bittersweet; those things in life we cannot control. Things we would rather not have to endure. But things that usually make us stronger. And relationships deeper as a result.
Because when your heart is really broken - facing a death of any kind. Someone is needed to stand beside us, carry us if only for a moment, and help us remember there is a sweetness to life even within the bitter.
Celebrating the bittersweet and deep friendship and grace that sees us through.
To hope again. On the hard days.
I push "publish" and cringe.
Funny, though. I push the pen and I'm thrilled. To express my heart.
And my words empty my soul and fill the page until I can breathe again. Writing my fears, my thoughts, my prayers - to God. A very personal penning. For years.
But then the blog. A new world opening; shimmering with the joy of finding others feeling just as I do. In their brokenness, in their fears and in their quest to find God in their lives. And I am thrilled again. By their story.
And I can't help myself. I join the throng. Having been to New Jersey at Christmas on a mission trip; the inspiration. Taking pictures. Writing about the stories there. After Hurricane Sandy.
And now. Barely able to get anything else done. This passion to read. To write.
But mostly, this insatiable quest in a bruised heart. To find more of God.
Because in the telling of stories; the messy, the raw, the embarrassing even. We begin to heal. Our messy spilling out on a page. Just to know we're not alone.
And we need each other.
And so, a blog. Often misunderstood and overlooked by some.
But for others. A place to heal. Finding God shining through the cracks of our brokenness. Helping us in the struggle to keep our eyes on Him. In telling our story.
God entering that space. And it becoming a sanctuary.
I love Ann. And I wonder why I even try. She does it so well.
But she encourages. She needs our stories. We need hers. And in seeing her so vulnerable and how it has helped me heal, I am also vulnerable. It humbles me. And reminds me that I, like everyone else, struggle. And life hits hard.
Sometimes we cover it up so well.
So, here, on these pages. Just a telling. A story. Of a girl and a life.
And a God who does not disappoint. In the daily, the hurts, the messy of life.
He shows up.
And messy pointing us to God; His grace and truth. Holy ground.
And so I push "publish" and cringe.
Praying God will use my messy to bless.
That's all.
That would be really good.
