Unfolding

If I'm being honest, I'm posting this reminder, because I'm hovering in the midst of uncertainty.  I can't seem to gain any navigational strategies.

On Monday, I spent the day taking down our Christmas decorations.  I strongly desired the boys to come and sit with me.  I wanted to tell them the story of so many of the ornaments we collected over the years.  For them to delight in the telling, somehow, and for us to have this sweet family moment.

But truthfully?  Colton was checked out, curled up with his legos in his room.  Quiet.  Content.  Not wanting to engage.

And Nolan, was all motion, and energy.  He was fine with the parts where I needed his strength, his reach, his agility in handling the big tree, and the tall racks where we store the boxes.  But slowing and listening to me talk about the ornaments?  Not so much.  He'd just keep moving, in and out, working around the spot I sat on the floor.

So I just dedicated myself to packing up each little bit.  The plastic bulbs, that I don't like, but truly were all we could afford that first year we moved back to Minnesota from Idaho.  We lacked any kind of financial security, but oh were we happy.  I then reach for the blue fragile ones.  Extra wrap for these.  They're glass, and irreplaceable.   It seems we break a few each year, and these are some of my favorites.  Will anyone know?  

Should I be grabbing the video camera and documenting as I go?  I could journal about each one, take pictures, write the stories…  But does it really matter?

And somehow… none of this seems right.  Because I can't quite figure out if I've packed those ornaments for the last time, or not?  

With my last bit of energy waning,

 I finish the job, packing up Christmas, with as much love as I can.  I wrap carefully.  I savor and cherish each one, longingly.  The hockey stick ornament for Nolan.  The blue fish ornament that Colton picked out.  The one I made, out of beads, of a heart.  I wrap and pack.  And hope.

I pray, its the love that gets unwrapped and felt, by whomever opens those ornaments next year.  

It's the love that matters, in the end.  This is what will see me through.  

It seems there is a fine line I'm walking these days.  I happened to look out one afternoon, and could see it so clearly.  

The light, shining through the dark.  And the dark, swirling around, swallowing up the light, just as quickly.  

This is where, my word grabs me, as I stumble along the ever -shifting line… just believe.  

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Superman continues to struggle, daily, with nerve pain, from shingles.  The doctor warned us, the pain can last for weeks, to months and even up to a year.  He told us to go back to him, only if symptoms prevailed past 3 weeks to a month- we're not quite there yet.  

  Rick manages to get out of bed, and down to his office to complete the most pressing projects.  But then needs to hunker down, rest his weary eyes, and try to relieve the taut, and corded muscles along his back.  The pain still registers in his eyes, the way his shoulders stoop when he walks, and the overall weariness of dealing with shingles.  Everything that you've heard about how miserable they can be- seems to be true.

All of this to say-

We're so thankful for all those who have helped us through these rough times.  The rides you've given our children.   The grace you've given when Rick can't return a call, text or email, right away.  We truly appreciate your understanding.