I am writing for the first time in weeks from a chair on the back deck of our house. My ankle is elevated because I managed to badly sprain it while walking to see my Mom in the Intensive Care Unit, where she has been since Saturday. I am missing a funeral today because of all this, while planning another for next week. Between my injury, Dion’s MS and Cate being away, our household is a bit of a comedy of errors. The beat shall we say, goes on.
The sun is shining right now. There’s a nice breeze too. I close my eyes and try to listen: to the birds, the squirrels running along the fence, the children playing in the schoolyard across the street, the breeze, the neighbours discussing their garden and the hum of a lawn mower. Since my childhood I have loved the smell of freshly mown grass and its scent is strong right now. I am trying to be aware of this moment.
In this moment I am also thinking of my Mom as she works to recover after another infection; of Dion as he checks out an accessible van that we need to buy; of Michael “Grumpy” Graham who died on Victoria Day; of the many people gathered at today’s memorial service for another friend tragically lost too soon; of Cate on her grade eight trip, wistfully aware of how quickly she is growing up. I am aware that my emotions are intertwined with so many things that are happening outside of my control.
I have been encouraged recently to consider what it means to abide, especially in the context of my faith. Abide means to: accept or bear; to stay or live somewhere; to remain or continue. I am invited to discover that as I abide in Christ, Christ abides in me. Any ability to accept and bear the challenges I’ve described above comes from strength that is absolutely not my own. As I rest into, or abide in the love of God, I am reminded that I am not alone.
So today as I listen to my surroundings and think about the oh so many things that I can’t change or fix, I also choose to abide.