Long shadows take light to get made
Friday it was bright in the morning after a long stretch of rain. I went walking for the first time in months (foot problems crippled me that long), cleaned house, washed clothes. Elijah was in a great mood and endorphins from my walk were doing wonders for my own.
But then it got windy outside. Dark clouds moved in. I was tired from my work, but was hoping to get some errands run before realizing Elijah was tired too, and probably couldn’t keep it together in public like I was hoping I could do. So I tried putting him down, and he wailed, and I tried rocking him, and he wailed, and I tried letting him wail for a bit, and he wailed. I finally got him up, feeling tired enough myself for it to be two in the morning, wondering where in the world our day’s joy had gone. The house felt bad, dark in ways beyond the sheets of rain outside. I never know how much that kind of darkness is inside of me, and how much is something beyond myself.
So I put Elijah on his changing table and started making up a song about light and love, and how both could fill the whole place up as far as I was concerned, until E was changed and loaded up to pick up N, who wasn’t keen on riding his bike in a downpour.
We got there early. I parked in front of a meadow where weeds and trees had grown into a sea of green. Elijah’s mood had turned sweet, and we sat there together, him babbling in the back seat, while sun broke through. That sea turned bright, and as rain kept falling, I thought I heard the sound of green things drinking. I thought I heard guzzling, and knew, again, that even when there’s darkness, outside or in my soul, there are these: jeweled meadows drinking rain. Gladness. Growth.
Death and life are happening, and maybe knowing that is what makes death more bearable. Maybe watching for the life, and moving toward it, are all the vocation I could wish for.