It’s hard to describe the last seven months. There’s facts like getting married, spending four weeks in China, living away from my parents for the first time. Then there’s little things like ironing and dishes, learning to cook and sewing on buttons.
My mother used to say, “You don’t know what it’s like until you experience it for yourself.”
Funny, how in the tyranny of the urgent, you can lose your voice bit by bit until you realize you haven’t written a thing in months and your soul is aching for release. Funny, when the tears are streaking down your cheeks and all you want to do is write, that you discover all those little things are not so very important and maybe the thing you fear most is picking up a pen.
Maybe the question, whispered darkly in the silence, is, “What do I have to say?”
When the blank page stares back at you and nothing seems to fit, it’s enough to make a mark.
Sometimes, I imagine the whole world turning – each of us tiny in our self-imposed significance.
Sometimes I imagine God watches our scurrying with a bemused smile.
Sometimes I imagine the world is coming apart, but other times I see hope like a candle in the darkness, guiding me home.
Sometimes I imagine everyone I love standing on the pebbled beach watching the sunrise. I stand among them and I know we’ll be alright.