You may pick up on the change in the normal flow of my writing…. though I am doing my best to dig back to where the therapeutic pouring of my deepest thoughts come from, I am finding a new struggle in finding the right words. Perhaps C.S. Lewis said it best… “Life is too deep for words. So don’t try to describe it. Just live it.”
It seems like just yesterday we were pillow-fighting among a Christmasy pile of wrapping paper and bubble wrap, the weight of my new fire department badge was hanging proudly against the deep background of my blues, and I was eagerly shifting weight back and forth to carve the smooth edges that were getting me in shape for a new season-long adventure of snowboarding. That’s the thing about blinking; we all have to do it.
This blink, standing on that edge of adventure flashed uncomfortably quickly to the fighting for my life. I know without the lows, the highs would have no context, but I find myself surprised and restless, uncomfortable with the depth of it, and ravenous for another taste of the mountaintops. This valley is broken, so broken.
My little sister and I long ago made a habit of texting each other every day a small although valuable list of what we have found to be thankful for each day. Some days those lists come easily, some days you can tell that it was a harder day than most to find some good in, and some days well, some days when the list is something like, “I’m grateful I have socks,” you send back a whole line of emotion-appropriate emojis and a prayer that tomorrow will be kinder. Nonetheless, I am grateful for this habit she has tried to ingrain in me, because when faced with a trial such as now, there is something in me still trying to make lists of the good. I mean, not always, because it’s much easier for me to fall victim to self-pity, or fear, or anger, but let me put it writing and proclaim to the crowds that in spite of the suffering, there is very much good in my life. Every day. Even when I don’t feel like admitting it.
There have been gifts from friends who know exactly what I need…
There have been hands to hold on the hardest days…
There has been company to uplift me when I’m feeling isolated…
There have been bright and loving reminders of where I came from, to make being away from home more embraceable…
There have been friends who have sacrificed their time, their gifts, their cooking, their families, their sleep, and their tired, cramping hands to sit at my feet and rub them for hours…and never complain.
There has been no shortage of snuggles…. waking…
…or sleeping…
There have been friends who not only haven’t let me quit, but have also quietly let me attempt a few /potentially unreasonable/ things, just so I could feel like a normal person who still had some sense of control in life…
There has been beauty found in surprising places…
There has been laughing…
And laughing…
…and laughing…
For every day that I have met with fearful gasps for breath, or had to cancel my favorite plan because I wouldn’t be walking that day, that ever-cheerful sun has still risen over my brokenness, and found my dearest people continuing to show up for me. Whether I’m digging deep to use all my energy to get out for a bit, or I’m tearfully wedged among pillows, grumbling at my inability to meet the day how I wanted to, they are here, doing their best to meet my needs, make me smile, and help me learn to live with these new broken edges.
I should be counting these gifts all day, every day, but the fear and the pain and the sheer exhaustion pulls at me hard enough sometimes to shake my focus. Help me remember, will you? Whatever the future holds, these stepping stone days of getting there are rich in beauty if I am willing to let it in.
Where do you find beauty in your broken?
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Choosing Hope 