(image from House to Home)
This has been the wettest spring we have ever seen. Or at least that I have ever seen. It is mid-May (something I am shocked to discover every time I write or see the days date) and we are still able to live comfortably in light sweaters and blue jeans, with windows and screen doors open and fans running. We have yet to turn our air conditioner on thanks to our 9 oak trees giving us shade, our new screen doors and our placement high up on a ridge that keeps us a wee bit cooler than the rest of town. But even with those tricks, by mid-May we are typically already sweating and huffing and complaining of the humidity and how much worse it is going to get. But not this spring, no this spring there are breezes, and cool evenings and everything is so green. So very, very green. Because of the nice weather I have been driving around town with my windows down and I am constantly amazed by the whiffs of honeysuckle, jasmine and rose that continue to flood the air… everything is so alive with color and lushness. And yet the contrast between the devastation it has brought to our state and those close to us, and the sheer beauty that is shooting straight up from the earth at a staggering pace is not lost on me.
I have not been able to escape the thought that this is how life truly works, regardless of our best laid plans. Growth and destruction happening side by side. Life and death, both caused by the same conditions, occurring at the same time. You only have to live through one tornado tearing down your house to realize how little control you really have in this life, despite your best efforts to the contrary… You learn quickly that despite the destruction and death that might ravage, life continues right along side to sprout from the earth, green and lush and full of fragrance.
There have been a lot of things this spring that have left me perplexed. Questions that I have about the future, questions about what my life is supposed to look like, what I am supposed to be doing as a mother, as a creative person, as a believer… Some of the questions have been particularly hard, and most of them do not have quick solutions or obvious answers, but even in the midst of the hardest days, the moments of complete confusion and frustration, there is still light, there is still hope. Every day I wake up and there are still my children’s sweet kisses and silly antics to greet me, to charm me. There are still my husbands strong arms to hold me tight, and his encouragement when I doubt myself. My sweet friends and family whose very presence and chit chat soothes me, distracts me, comforts me with their familiarity. And this spring, this wet, cool, tumultuous spring, there has been an almost constant soothing breeze, and the fresh sweet smell of honeysuckle in the air. Sweet, sweet honeysuckle.
As I have driven around town, with the windows rolled down, honeysuckle flowing over me, the song I have listened to over and over, the one that has become my mantra, my daily prayer is this one.