What a difference a day makes

Do you remember that old love song? Yesterday I could only see and feel "gray". Today the colors are all there, intense and gratifying. An especially dear friend and I were ruminating about how suddenly everything in our lives can change: one phone call, one incident, one conversation. And now, nothing will ever be the same again.

When I was a chaplain, the hardest thing of all was being present when someone received news that would forever wound them--I'm sorry, but your baby didn't make it; I'm sorry, but there is nothing more we can do; I'm sorry, but you need to let her go; I'm sorry, but something totally unforeseen happened during surgery. In some instances I was that messenger, hating, to the point of a gut ache, to say those words that could never be taken back.

Twice this morning I read pieces by excellent writers about how hard winter is and how we're already exhausted. One is a close friend. The other, Timothy Egan, writes for the NYTimes. (He was writing from Port Angeles, WA, a beautiful little town on the Olympic Peninsula, just across the water from Victoria, BC. I long to return to that incredibly beautiful area.) Anyway, getting back to my point, I agreed wholeheartedly with each writer. And yet--when Tessa and I walked this morning in the sunshine, trekking through another layer of fresh snow, dazzling in its sparkling beauty, I was enchanted. What a difference a day makes!

We all struggle with the fear in the air, the hope in our hearts, the possibilities that confront us. It's all real; some of it is scary; it's mostly beyond our ability to control-- just like death.
And so we live on, some of us trusting, as best we can, in One who loves us; some of us finding our peace and courage from less "mystical" sources.

Emily Dickinson said, "To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else."

So live! And please come visit again.