Current troubles are plentiful. The pandemic is depleting our collective reserves, as we try to navigate the ramifications of systems breaking down. The weather has consumed a bunch of attention, both from people trying to escape it as well as those trying to maneuver its effects. My thoughts are with those in the former category, though I am not inclined to heroism on a grand scale. I know people who are. They go out into the rain and snow on purpose to look for and
retrieve complete strangers. I bet there is an extra cushy place in heaven for them. But then again maybe they have enough mettle to last into the next few centuries and would be disappointed by complete respite. I suppose God could create a tiny bit of danger to keep them sharp.
The anniversary of the attack on the capital weighs on my mind, and fuels the civil unrest. People are finding new ways to hurt one another, or perhaps just revamping old ones.
I asked John if he was scared of all the uncertainty. He smiled and said he is a good friend of the Person in charge of wind and waves.
The thing I try to hold front and center is the memory of past disasters that actually melted into a new way of life. My mother lost everything in a flood, and she moved in with me. My baby was hospitalized for severe failure to thrive and had a hundred appointments before his first birthday. But if I post a video of him singing on our family chat there are a peppering of hearts and comments within minutes. Nineteen years ago I was flattened by three kids in diapers, especially
as I was using cloth ones. The bathroom smelled pretty bad. I cannot actually think of a silver lining for that one except that it is over.
Hard times are at the heart of any story. I suppose it is part of creating a character more resilient than a daisy. One of the miracles is that we get to turn toward each other instead of away.
