I’ve been in a bit of a funk recently, for no good reason, just a few disappointments, the fact that spring still feels a lot like winter.  And I miss David. You might think after five years I’d be . . . what?  Immune? Over it? That’s not really how grief works. Focusing on the positive helps, though.

So when I stumbled upon these photos from a November 2003 trip to Maui to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary, I was not just cheered up. I was delighted. I’d thought the bulk of them were long gone. I’ve had the photo above enlarged, framed, and on the wall for years, because I just can’t get enough of those blues, but the rest were a wonderful surprise.

Sunsets are spectacular there, of course, but I also love the early morning light. The last two are from the walk we took every morning before breakfast.

I don’t even know what to call that stunning shade of blue, undulating with peachy pinks and molten silver, flecks of navy in liquid mercury, but it feeds my soul somehow.

So even though the early spring weather brought us a near-blizzard this morning, canceling one of my poetry classes and the first of five “Wine Tour of France” educational tastings, I’m okay.

I heard this today from Timothy Keller on the Gospel in Life podcast: “Because of God, there is an ocean, an infinite ocean of love and joy out there for us, and we’re trapped temporarily in a little tiny piece of darkness, microscopic practically. Evil is a passing thing. There’s light and high beauty forever beyond its reach because evil fell into the heart of Jesus. It doesn’t matter what happens. It’s going to be all right.” 

Take heart. It’s going to be all right.

If you’ve read many of these posts, you know I love color and light. I absolutely savor Christmas lights during the darkest part of the year. And this year, we also had some less-traditional colorful fun with lights during the holidays. I had asked everyone to bring something black to wear, which they did, not knowing what I had in mind. Then between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, we had a dollar-store glow-stick dance party. In case you want to try this yourself some dark evening, word to the wise: the little clips that come with the “costume kit” are annoying and next to useless. The girls made loops and headbands and bracelets instead, so we managed to laugh and dance and had a great time. How many activities do you know that entertain three generations, including teens, for under ten bucks? Just saying.

Glowstick Dance Party – Beckett – 30 December 2022

Chelsea – 30 Dec 2022

Felicity – 30 Dec 2022

Chelsea and Beckett – 30 Dec 2022

Sunny, Courtney, Felicity, Bailey and Beckett – 30 Dec 2022

Of course, by now everyone has gone home, and the Christmas lights have been put away, so I love that the days are getting longer. Okay, not by much and not quickly, but I did leave Chelsea and Brian’s one evening recently a mere half hour early and drove home in semi-daylight, even if it was fading fast. In fact, it was bright enough that I noticed my next door neighbor, as I was about to pull into my driveway, motioning for me to stop. She was holding a bottle of wine and told me some women from the neighborhood had started a monthly happy hour for the women in the neighborhood, and I should drop off my stuff and join them. Just say oui, as I’ve already learned. What a lovely way to fight the isolation that tends to threaten so many of us, especially in winter.

So as the dark is so very present these days, both in the season and in the news, I pray for you love, good friends, warmth and light as we wait and hope for the sun to break through and stick around a while.

The month of December has flown by, and not everything about it has been a bundle of joy. After holding and comforting a very sick Brooks the entire week after Thanksgiving, by Friday afternoon the 2nd, I had the same thing. I’d imagined my immunities much stronger by now than they apparently are. Experiencing what he was going through definitely increased my empathy for the little guy, although I hope I have always been a compassionate caregiver.

Then he had a few truly scary allergic reactions, ending up in the ER twice in eight days. Here he is the second time, after treatment had reduced his reaction to just an adorable Rudolph nose.

He now has to have an EpiPen handy at all times and is confirmed allergic to casein, so ALL milk products; maybe eggs, to be confirmed or disproved soon; and weirdly, blueberries, which he had eaten with no issues for weeks, if not months. As someone who cannot imagine life without butter or cheese or old-school ice cream, I’m hoping he grows out of these allergies, but he’s his usual cheerful self, especially when he’s not tormented by hives and eczema and other random rashes.

I’d like to think it would be the rare person who would not be touched by the suffering of a little one, but I’m being stretched to think of many others these days, as well. Tomorrow David will have been gone five years, and I have not forgotten the agony of those early days without him.

I have three close friends spending their first Christmas without their beloved and one family without their beloved adult son/brother. A few others without one of their parents this Christmas for the first time. Others facing scary, challenging medical diagnoses. And this is just within my circle of acquaintance.

I watched a movie recently, The Swimmers, chosen because I love stories of underdogs succeeding against all odds, but I had no idea what it would do to me. This depiction of the plight of immigrants wrecked me. I know the numbers are overwhelming and the solutions are complex, but I had allowed that to numb me into mostly putting it out of my mind. I no longer can.

I’m increasingly convinced this month that the gift God is trying to give me this Christmas is compassion on a whole new level. I’m certainly feeling a lot of empathy. My heart has been breaking this month more than usual–in a good way, if that makes sense. But compassion requires action, not just feelings. So here’s hoping I (and all of us) can put hands and feet to work for the good of others. To continue to feel and express gratitude for beauty, like this Christmas sunrise. . .

. . . while also living in such a way as to teach our little ones . . .

. . . to be mindful of others, to both feel empathy and live compassion.

Grace and peace to you!