I’ve been encountering it a lot lately.
Things lining up in that subtle yet perfectly orchestrated way. I can’t miss the gift given, nor the Giver.
Last night I didn’t want to be alone. My soul felt heavy in my bones. Words were failing and I needed to be out of my own head. I spent an hour trying to find someone to come over and sit with me.
I texted her, some random comment. She’d been here late the night before and had a full day of work. I didn’t want to intrude. If I’m being honest, I feel like I’m sucking out her soul as I’m losing mine. I’m scared she’ll be annoyed with me if I need one more thing from her.
She saw through my words and asked “do I need to come over?”
I laughed. It was funny-not-funny. I whispered yes and wept. This season has been one of starts and stops…things I thought were givens feel like they are turning to dust in my hands. The breath comes, jagged and sharp. But still there. I have hope. It lingers and sparks…I see it in the 11:11 time stamp, forever my reminder to pray.
I see it in the $42 thrifted boots—24 hours after asking for a pair for Christmas.
I see it in the care of friends for my children.
I see it in my husband as love, once waning, is rekindled and burns bright.
I receive the gift and I see the Giver, gracing me with good things that speak only to my soul. There are low moments, moments when I forgot to see and my words become jumbled. Where I listen to my words instead of Wisdom. Where I know I’m forcing instead of receiving.
But that’s life, isn’t it? A journey of starts, stops, falls, and perils. Yet hope blooms forever along the roadside.