Entering in 01/03/2012
 
I've held off writing for a while. Partly it is the time of year. As the old year dies away, it brings to mind other years, other little deaths. While everyone is celebrating a new year, a new start, a blank slate, the part of me that is the majority of me sits there thinking: "but all the old years are going to follow me into this one anyway." Perhaps it's the cold or the wet or the extended dark. Perhaps the growing heaviness in my belly which carries its own little hope, but also fears. Perhaps it's just my mind which has always been contemplative and pondered darkly.
I woke to the new year with news from the old and shuddered a bit, but accepted it as a matter of course, a product of my own prediction. I snuggled closer in to the safety of my warm, sleepy Hubs and presently little footsteps entered in and Li'l E scaled the side of the bed and nestled between us. Just for a moment, in the warm quiet closeness of the four of us in three bodies, I could sense the blank slate, feel the potential of the year.
Then came the phone call that my little sister was in an ambulance on the far side of the country and there was little news. A morning of worry, a morning of cursing distance.
My Hubs laid a table of comfort food: hot pancakes, fluffy eggs, and bacon. We ate quietly though Li'l E chirped on cheerfully. Despite the disquiet of the morning, it was soothing to have such a day fall on Sunday, and me without obligation to be at a specific service or teach afterward. We were allowed a lazy morning before heading to noon Mass at the cathedral. The bishop gave the homily which truly spoke to my state of mind. He addressed the idea of the new year, and the solemnity of Mary by reminding us of the Christ's own mother who saw the beautiful and the painful and "pondered all of these things in her heart." The bishop encouraged us all not to remember simply our finer moments, our successes, and our happiness; but also to hold in our minds the painful experiences, the hard lessons, and weakness-- for this too is a part of our journey. A part of what makes us who we are. It made me contemplate the greatness of a God who can reach into pain and hurt and shame and pull from it beauty, knowledge, and progress. As we received communion the sun moved directly behind the stained glass window above the altar, and the entire sanctuary burst into a rainbow of colors streaming through the images of Our Lady and the heavenly host. "To Jesus through Mary," I quoted with a lighter heart. As we walked out into the cold air and warm sun, I contemplated the trials which had seemed so heavy that morning in a truly new light. I saw behind them the gifts, the goodness, to which grace had helped transform them.
The rest of the day was spent together as a family, in hope. Making some purchases for the arrival of our newest member. Cleaning and airing out the spare room which will soon be occupied. A day of looking forward, instead of back. A rare state for me. A welcome reprieve from the darkness of the winter.
That night I was able to text with my sister. She was here, she was herself (albeit with quite a few new stitches in place). I'm so thankful to say that. Life is so stunningly fragile, and we seem to forget it all the time. Perhaps it is the apparent hardness, or just our hardheadedness.
I'm grateful for the first day of this year, for a momentary brightening of what has been a long, dark night for me. It was only a  break in the clouds, short but bright. It reminds me that behind it all there is still sun. 
 


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