The yard is lush and green. I harvested spinach yesterday and planted
more. The sun is already halfway across the eastern sky at 7:30 in
the morning. And I’m still fighting my life, battling for something
not given right now. It’s no use trying to chisel out some
normalcy. I have to decide—have to dive into what I’m given.
There’s a sweetness I’m missing because I don’t want to give
in to it. I’m looking for normalcy and don’t know what it is.
It’s not anything I want. It’s not even what Dave wants.
All I know is that it’s Dave’s job to be sick and mine to care
for him as well as I can. But even in that, we can carve out some joy
together. I keep trying to get ready to be alone, keep rushing what
will come after, but there’s no doing that.
I want to do what we can do now. I want to smile and laugh and love
each other. We can still do that. There is summer left and on the
days he can, we can take drives or breathe in some green somewhere.
He would like that and so would I. And there is the pleasure of
pleasing him.
One single thread of spider silk is hanging from the top of the
arbor all the way to the arm of my chair. All I would have to do
break it is to wave a careless arm and it would be gone. But it
shines in the sun. I think I will leave it.
I need to stop running away from my life in the name of saving it. I
need to demolish the compartments I have built and am encouraged to
build for protection. I need to slide all the way in. Because God is
good, there is something beautiful there. The moments of life escape
so easily. Like this one.
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