Someday I Hope To Tell the Story

Lost gloves in the park, found hanging up to dry and be found.

Someday I hope to tell the story of this winter.

But for now it's enough to live through it. To find gifts in surprising places and help from unexpected sources, to hibernate, to create, to say a hundred words and behold a hundred silences. To feel grace falling on my cheeks like that pretty kind of snow--the kind that doesn't blow and howl and bury you in steep banks, but dances down the stories and traces the city from top to bottom like ghostly fingers. To be caught in the blowing and howling soul-storms and find my way home.

There are things I am learning--or I should say, things that I am told, that I am learning by heart so that I can understand them in a slow simmer and maybe someday believe them in my bones.

Things like:

  • There is a time to take the strong medicine you need, and a time to learn to live without the drug.
  • It is possible to be the last one to finally see yourself as you truly are.
  • A little confirmation can transform knowing into believing. (Some things we know are a little unbelievable. That doesn't mean they're not true.)
  • Wanting to be seen is nothing to be ashamed of.
  • Hiding out is exhausting when it's your nature to stand tall in the world.

There are still questions I'm asking and stories I need to untangle, there is still cold weather and cozy covers. But there is more light coming every day, glimpses of the way around this bend, and the feeling that I will come into a place of joy and freedom on the other side.