I woke up slightly before five to the whir of the heater and a dim light coming from the living room. I groggily stumbled out of my bedroom to wish the mister a good day at work. I leaned down to kiss him goodbye and he told me that he had turned the heater up for me...So I wouldn't be cold when I got up in the morning.
A couple of hours later, when I woke up to a warm house, I remembered his words.
I am feeling particularly nostalgic on this rainy day. The first day of a new month. The clanking of the spoon in my coffee cup, quiet, dark mornings, the rain and how the water dances off the eaves, apple and cinnamon oatmeal, the sound of softly playing music in the background. All things that remind me of my grandparents. My childhood.
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I went to a memorial service on Friday for a young man my son's age. They were childhood friends from the age of two until about eleven when life pulled us in different directions. I had lost touch with his mom until I had heard about Caleb's death.
And she bravely spoke about of the struggles of addiction but also of the God who pursues into the depths of darkness. Those dark, dark places rarely acknowledged. She pondered his legacy and the purpose of his life that will continue to impact those who knew and loved him for some time to come.
She didn't ask why.
I know all about the why. The insidious 'why?' or 'what if?' It starts with one question, then snowballs into a myriad of regrets and painful memories. Of abuses endured. Of paths not chosen.
It has taken me countless years to realize that the 'what ifs' never change a single thing. What they do, however, is steal joy. I have, over the years, slowly made peace with God about those things which once plagued my thoughts. All of those things that made me feel shame have, in actuality, shaped me. They have helped carve a path for the journey ahead. What's done is done. All I see now is grace and second chances and works in progress. And daily opportunities to love and make a difference.
My life is a beautiful mess. It's imperfect. But it is a gift I don't want to squander. And we need to talk more and love more and judge less. I will be the first person to say that I don't have it all figured out, and I'm not even close to having all of my shit together. I don't think I ever will be. And maybe that's the point. Just being able to say it. To be honest and real so others don't have to feel like they are the only ones struggling.
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The heater whirs and warms this house and my heart. And I am so grateful. I can even say that I am grateful for the hard things and my own dark places, because without them, I don't think I would be able to see the impact of redemption and the hope in which it carries.
{So let's talk about the hard things, okay? You are not alone. Talking removes the stigmas and the shame. And let's love. Love those around you. Love all the people you can, while you can.}