May 2017:
I wrote a garden report about a year ago, and in the last 11 months and change:
I moved around my sewing room, for the umpteenth time.
We put in new beds on the front of the house, purely for the love of flowers.
I completed a whole year of preaching. And Jon did too- and we got into a groove of being a preaching couple, passing like ships in the night on Sundays, between the insanity of Sunday morning and seeking blissful quiet after days full of people.
I conducted my first full funeral. And my second. And my third.
I picked the first zucchini I grew from seeds, and the first butternut. Both were delicious.
There have been ups and downs, purchases and purges, mountain snowfalls and waves rolling in on the beach. Thunderstorms have lulled me to sleep... and lately, little nudges from inside have woken me up.
Wonder doesn't begin to describe it- making the choice to be parents... anxiously waiting for a positive test, and finding out something has taken root in me, no bigger than a poppyseed- and that in that tiny thing we could find hope enough for a lifetime.
Hearing an impossibly fast heartbeat, seeing a blob on a screen, watching my body and the blob both change and grow... Seeing a sweet profile, and seeing my own profile swell and round as winter turned to spring and the promise of new life in the world meant something entirely different- as the hope of ressurection and the breadth of possibilities offered to us by our creator took on new wonder.
This time last year, our lives looked very different- and this time next year, they will be different still- Jon will be serving a new church. We have three weeks left in this house, with this garden. And three months left as a family of 2-plus-dog.
I want to write more- to stretch these muscles- and I have said it before, and I'll probably say it again. Time will get away from me again, but maybe not another year.
No comments:
Post a Comment