Yesterday I noted this reflection on social media: “All I did in 2019 was survive it.”
Why did I think of the pool of Bethesda and the legend of the angel “troubling the waters“? Was it the sense of just enduring? The lack of hope?
The words stirred my soul on multiple levels.
I can relate to surviving. In 2019, my husband almost didn’t. There is no control in the valley of the shadow of death, only submission. Each long, dark day must be endured; my boys and I waited for the ray of hope.
And the healing came.
It was a year of survival, of change, of pain and loss, of life being altered. But then, joy: On the heels of his father’s recovery, our oldest married, went into the ministry, became a father. This Christmas, our family is bigger. This Christmas, we have so much more life to celebrate. This Christmas, inside the typical clamor, is a deep pocket of stillness. It is like the branches of our tree, frosted silver, catching the light, glimmering with tiny iridescent fire.
We survived, but more importantly, we live. We love. There’s always more love to give, another ray of light just ahead in the darkness, another healing after the troubling of the waters.
Life and hope renewed. Is that not the message of Christmas?
On that note . . . those of you who know this blog will know that 2019 was the first year we were “dogless” for a while.
That aching void is now filled.
I shall leave you with wishes for a holiday in your heart every day that you live and three pounds of sheer joy.
Merry Christmas, loves.
Welcome home, Dennis
So this is Christmas
My boy Cadillac Man and his Dennis nestled all snug in their bed