The gift of a long vacation is to be fully there, unpacked, entirely away. But it's like the mornings before my kids wake up, or when I have a sitter for a few hours- it isn't reality, and I know it will end soon, and so I feel this pressure to maximize my time somehow, to cram in all of the things, rest meaningfully, read all of the books, experience some moment of clarity or vision. Yes, I know #firstbornproblems.
Instead I came away with only this: Everything ends and begins. It is beautiful. Love and mercy.
And one more: Here I am.
It is the best anyone can do, to be here, wherever I am. All that my kids or anyone needs from me, all Christ calls me to, all I have to give- myself, at this moment. Tenderly.
And then we came home to springtime. The birds outside my window are a racket this morning. How ever did they survive the winter?
Yesterday we learned about maple syrup. We watched them pierce the flesh of the tree and the sweetness that drips out, born of darkness and death. Everywhere is resurrection.
Springtime evening light is lush and pouring forth sweetness. It is a mother's arms. It is the father's leap and the prodigal's return. It is the lover's Come away. It is the tenderest greeting and the grandest surprise and the thing we'd been searching for, all this time and darkness and even when we should have given up. It is so far away and suddenly right here, behind and before.
Everything ends. Everything begins. Eternity in our heart. Everywhere is resurrection.
Here I am.