I find myself spending a quiet afternoon in Canmore with a cup of Murchie’s Christmas tea, a new book, and a window with a spectacular view. Life has been hectic lately – good but hectic. These moments of quiet are precious, it’s what allows my brain to relax and the anxiety monster to quiet to the background of my mind.
Christmas was good, it was lovely in fact, but there’s a twinge of sadness that accompanies it now. Loss of people no longer with us, loss of people who have chosen to leave, loss of the life that was expected. And yet there’s a lot of hope, hope for a brighter future for all of us, hope for joy, hope for peace. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last few years, it’s that it is as important to feel the yucky feelings as it is to feel the good ones. They all need to be absorbed and processed, keeping hold of the happier ones, making sense and letting go of the sadder ones.
And so I sit here, looking at the mountains, hearing kids run about and laugh, and I think – how fortunate we are. The good, the bad, the ugly, we are still so incredibly fortunate. Our pastor talked about how in moments of chaos you often see the light of God shine the brightest, and I feel this has been true for us. Sometimes it’s hard to see, or easy to doubt, but it’s always been there.
I’ve been so busy with life and especially with school that I’ve let my spiritual connection lapse, and I really am feeling the consequences of that. It is what grounds me, what keeps me focused, and what provides my hope. It’s almost like I needed life to get to a point where I understood how much it was missing from my life so that I could stop and refocus my priorities.
So here I sit