I’m weary.
Maybe you feel it too?
A heaviness from life’s struggles and unmet expectations covers me like a weighted blanket. Residue from hurt and pain over the past year lingers and makes a case for me to climb up under the covers and never come out. I’m tired. And maybe a little sad. And admitting it only seems to add shame to the mix.
But I also have joy. Not a warm, fuzzy, happy feeling dripping with sentiment, but a settled assurance, a quiet confidence and a determined choice.
I love getting gifts. Some of my favorite gifts to get are little things that don’t cost very much money but that I rarely buy for myself. A magazine on fashion or decorating, a bottle of new nail polish or a new Starbucks mug from their “You Are Here” series.
But to tell the truth, what I love almost as much as the gift itself is the way it’s packaged. I love things that are presented beautifully and lovingly. That can mean a simple piece of twine wrapped around a magazine or a cute little chalkboard tag attached to it. One of my favorite gifts I ever received was packaged in a brown paper sack, threaded at the top with some twine and tied into a tidy little bow. Inside was tea, a bag of fresh cherries & some chocolate. It was so simple and so thoughtful.
“Brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favorite things…”
A couple of weekends ago we traveled up north to our old stomping grounds of Hibbing, MN. As soon as we turned onto Hwy. 53 a receiving line of pine trees appeared and welcomed us, gently guiding us north toward our destination. If there is a stretch of road that holds more memories for my husband & I than this, I am unaware of it. The 30 plus mile stretch would tell stories of
I have made it almost 4 decades without the date July 16th evoking any real emotion in me. But this year there is a somber angst in my soul. This year, the anniversary of the Vel d’Hiv Roundup haunts me like a heavy regret. I find myself staring at black and white photographs of people being dragged from their homes, corralled like cattle into buses that would land them, along with thousands of other innocent
victims, imprisoned in the Velodrome for the next week with very little food or water and without lavatories.
I recently had the opportunity to write for a blog called the Mudroom. I love their tagline, “The Mudroom is a place for the stories emerging in the midst of the mess.” And that’s exactly what life is, our stories emerging in the midst of the mess. Because let’s face it, life is nothing if not messy.
Love is something that can be hard and messy at times too. It’s like a banged up, bruised up family heirloom that holds all of our secrets. We cling to it throughout the years, knowing that even with all of its faults, it holds immense value to us.
“Old love carries our disappointments, pain, and failures together in the same tender hands that hold our memories, laughter and dreams. Amazingly, it’s in the compilation of them where we discover the deepest, strongest roots of love.”
To read the rest of my post and check out their blog, head over to The Mudroom.
Ream More @ the Mudroom
