It's temporary of course--Mike's horrendous end-of-year work hours (and the accompanying exhaustion for both of us) combined with the the evening light deserting. We've made it through year after year and breathed freely and with relief again. Just as we will do this year.
But it troubles me to feel the heaviness descending at all. It's out of place and ill-fitting with leaves turning orange, the cooler weather, pumpkins and all the holidaying they mark the beginning of! It feels a failure for weariness to exist in me alongside all the magic of twinkly lights over the mantel, the smell of pine, snow falling quietly at night, and "Still, Still, Still" playing in the background. I love all of those things. And it sorrows me to feel any type of dread alongside such pureness.
But look. Something about this picture of me and Mike from two Sundays ago. He'd just accepted a call to serve in our bishopric (and was about to cut his beloved red beard) when Anders took it for us. While this calling will undoubtedly bring blessings, it will also, of necessity, add more weight to these upcoming months. And yet, I keep looking at this picture because ... I see joy in us. It's there. And strong. We love each other. Our life has beauty. Burdened and tired or not.
And perhaps that's what I am to learn from the difficulties that accompany these months of celebration. Perhaps those things existing side-by-side are ... the truths about mortality in more obvious contrast.
In any case, the good things are there in abundance, whether I am feeling tremendous weight or not. And here are a few of the beginning good things of fall:
Conference weekend with all of the kids home!
This little sleeping boy that I love.
And Anders turning 11. (He'll be passing the sacrament and attending the temple come January! How is that possible? He's just my little kid!)
The End.
2 comments:
Well, I know just how you feel. Or maybe I don't, but your words make me THINK I know just how you feel. I do love fall, and all those magical things you said, but I have also always felt a sorrow and a dimming (which unfortunately doesn't confine itself to fall anymore) and sense of heaviness about just…I don't know…the reality of loss and change. I wish you didn't have to have those dark days and long hours, or have any sort of dread, but you're right--there IS joy, and light in you and your Mike. Look at you! Look at those babies you made! Fine work if I ever saw it. It shines out and lights the rest of us.
Oh I love your thoughts. But wish you didn't have to experience it all so deeply in order to be so wise and amazing. Mike will be such a blessing to your ward. Lucky them. But I'm sorry. It takes a lot. Just adore you and yours sweet friend.
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