Our corn grew tassels this week, our gourds have become plentiful and our onions are so large their white tops are cresting above the soil. Our blueberry bushes are holding their own against the strangeness of this Michigan summer, while our flower gardens look like patches of wildness thrown between pavers instead of the cultivated landscape we envisioned. Our home is restful, peaceful in the midst of our life’s confusion.
Twinkle is back in medical treatment that is tiresome, but thankfully working. It takes a lot out of us, the shuffling and the smiling, the checking in with numerous doctors while recounting the years of trying to get this gorgeous child healthy. Two times a week now we spend in communion with science and medicine, watching as Twinkle grows stronger and healthier in front of our eyes. Tiresome and trying though it may be, watching it work, and work well, gives a power to this leg of our journey I hadn’t seen coming. This year, 2014, will not be the year childhood illness defeats our spirit – it is the year we watch miracles in the form of a patient seven-year-old who is so much better at taking everything in stride than I ever could be.
Other things have cropped into our lives, illness, injury, death and mourning have all sneaked into our path this summer. Job changes, career questions, quarter life crisis moments that are coming a bit later than expected, all things trying to crowd out the good, to test our resolve.
Davey and I, we watch the seasons change through the heights of our garden and through the brilliance of our children. I test the strength and the permanence of our love for each other by jumping, kicking and screaming at the unfairness of the world, projected by a megaphone aimed squarely and unfairly at his face. Thankfully this magically worked as a thickening agent, using projection as a coping mechanism, and added layers of cement to our already rock solid foundation instead of cracking the ground beneath our feet.
I am at a loss for words lately, at how our life can still feel so completely perfect, while we watch so many sharks circling. How can one look at my children still swell my throat, fill my eyes and make a fountain of gratitude erupt from my mouth? I am grateful, grateful that inside me rests the ability to see good, to appreciate love and feel it in my veins, and that this ability is much stronger than fear.