Reflections on a stormy year...
As I took a little walk to the local 7-eleven (don't judge...) tonight and felt the wind blow through my hair, I thought about this day last year. Hurricane Irene was rolling through town. A guy who seemed like a promising prospect came over to eat spaghetti and play memory. It was one of those nights when everyone stays in. Those nights that feel like something from days gone by. School was about to start, and I was taking in my last days of freedom.
I've always been one of those people who like to think about where I was this time last year, what has happened since then, and how things have changed. The start of the school year functions kind of like New Year's for me. I set goals, reflect, and daydream. As I was walking tonight and thinking about another hurricane season, I couldn't help but be baffled by the year that has unfolded since I sat at the dining room table with my roomie and my new friend decorating sugar cookies. As the rain started to come, I was nothing but confident that this year was going to be perfect. The year in which things worked the way I envisioned.
I read once that your brain is a bit obsessed with making things feel normal. Adapting. Adjusting. This explains how people survive such horrific situations and how others don't seem to notice how good they have it. I see this in my own life. It seems that no matter how easy or overwhelming a year has been, I feel like it's been normal. It's not until I talk to someone I haven't talked to in a long time that I am reminded of the awesome life I lead or the tragedy I've witnessed. So as I walk to get overpriced ice cream I think about this year, and what I was thinking last year. And I'm overwhelmed by the fond emotions I attach to this year. As people ask me about my summer spent at home helping my parents, I can genuinely say that I had a delightful summer. It seems like a normal way to spend a summer.
But I'm hoping this year isn't normal. This time last year cancer hadn't become so attached to conversations about my mom. Death hadn't taken three people I knew. I hadn't seen my aunt that I had lost touch with lying in a hospice room. But despite the year of heartbreak--of watching people I love go through things that seem like more than a person can survive, when I look back on the year, it seems like it's been a good year. I'm not sure how that is possible. I remember days when certain songs would make me unable to think of anything but the funeral of a sweet boy. I remember church services where I spent the entire worship time wiping away tears as I feared for my mom. I remember being overcome with the realization that I could not control most of what was happening to those I care about. But more than those days that seem so dark, I remember the sweet times. The hours my dad spent cutting up peaches for me so I could make jam. The trip to get pedicures with my mom. My niece informing me I was a good driver--clearly the ONLY person in my family to ever declare that. I remember laughing with my parents as we sat in my mom's hospital room and realizing how fortunate we were to have our family to get through it all. I remember dancing around an imaginary circle with my niece. And I remember eating meals with my dad's family for the first time in over a decade and having the amazing joy of getting to know them while feeling the ache of knowing how much I had missed over the years. I think, despite the hurt, I've smiled more this year. Maybe because of the hurt. I think that when you see the brokenness of a fallen world, it makes you appreciate the moments that God's redemption shows up--even if it's in the little things like picking the perfect strawberry or taking a walk with a fabulous dog on a warm summer evening. I think I've smiled more this year, or maybe I'm just more aware of the smiles because they were so needed.
I've been forced to learn that I have very little control over anything in my life except my own choices. I have had to learn to accept that everyone makes their own choices. And I've had to learn that God really is the only one that can settle my spirit. And I have to remind myself of this in a mantra-like way. But in those moments when I embrace this truth, I find myself free to take in all of life without the pressure to fix it all, to worry about it. On the days I forget these lessons, I find myself nagging people, worrying about the future, and blaming others for my mistakes.
I had no idea last year, as I heard the wind slapping around the pine trees that the storm would be such an appropriate metaphor for the year ahead, but as I look at the pine trees still standing outside my window, and I think about the healing that God has done in my own life and the lives of others, I see God's perfect provision. Trees were created to sway with the storm and humans were created to find strength in the most unlikely places. And I find myself looking ahead to this upcoming school year with the same optimism I had last year.
I've always been one of those people who like to think about where I was this time last year, what has happened since then, and how things have changed. The start of the school year functions kind of like New Year's for me. I set goals, reflect, and daydream. As I was walking tonight and thinking about another hurricane season, I couldn't help but be baffled by the year that has unfolded since I sat at the dining room table with my roomie and my new friend decorating sugar cookies. As the rain started to come, I was nothing but confident that this year was going to be perfect. The year in which things worked the way I envisioned.
I read once that your brain is a bit obsessed with making things feel normal. Adapting. Adjusting. This explains how people survive such horrific situations and how others don't seem to notice how good they have it. I see this in my own life. It seems that no matter how easy or overwhelming a year has been, I feel like it's been normal. It's not until I talk to someone I haven't talked to in a long time that I am reminded of the awesome life I lead or the tragedy I've witnessed. So as I walk to get overpriced ice cream I think about this year, and what I was thinking last year. And I'm overwhelmed by the fond emotions I attach to this year. As people ask me about my summer spent at home helping my parents, I can genuinely say that I had a delightful summer. It seems like a normal way to spend a summer.
But I'm hoping this year isn't normal. This time last year cancer hadn't become so attached to conversations about my mom. Death hadn't taken three people I knew. I hadn't seen my aunt that I had lost touch with lying in a hospice room. But despite the year of heartbreak--of watching people I love go through things that seem like more than a person can survive, when I look back on the year, it seems like it's been a good year. I'm not sure how that is possible. I remember days when certain songs would make me unable to think of anything but the funeral of a sweet boy. I remember church services where I spent the entire worship time wiping away tears as I feared for my mom. I remember being overcome with the realization that I could not control most of what was happening to those I care about. But more than those days that seem so dark, I remember the sweet times. The hours my dad spent cutting up peaches for me so I could make jam. The trip to get pedicures with my mom. My niece informing me I was a good driver--clearly the ONLY person in my family to ever declare that. I remember laughing with my parents as we sat in my mom's hospital room and realizing how fortunate we were to have our family to get through it all. I remember dancing around an imaginary circle with my niece. And I remember eating meals with my dad's family for the first time in over a decade and having the amazing joy of getting to know them while feeling the ache of knowing how much I had missed over the years. I think, despite the hurt, I've smiled more this year. Maybe because of the hurt. I think that when you see the brokenness of a fallen world, it makes you appreciate the moments that God's redemption shows up--even if it's in the little things like picking the perfect strawberry or taking a walk with a fabulous dog on a warm summer evening. I think I've smiled more this year, or maybe I'm just more aware of the smiles because they were so needed.
I've been forced to learn that I have very little control over anything in my life except my own choices. I have had to learn to accept that everyone makes their own choices. And I've had to learn that God really is the only one that can settle my spirit. And I have to remind myself of this in a mantra-like way. But in those moments when I embrace this truth, I find myself free to take in all of life without the pressure to fix it all, to worry about it. On the days I forget these lessons, I find myself nagging people, worrying about the future, and blaming others for my mistakes.
I had no idea last year, as I heard the wind slapping around the pine trees that the storm would be such an appropriate metaphor for the year ahead, but as I look at the pine trees still standing outside my window, and I think about the healing that God has done in my own life and the lives of others, I see God's perfect provision. Trees were created to sway with the storm and humans were created to find strength in the most unlikely places. And I find myself looking ahead to this upcoming school year with the same optimism I had last year.
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