Fleeting Light

 

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It’s been a tough few months.  Year one was magical.  Year two hit us with stress and frustration.  We’ve laughed that we woke up on our anniversary, and already it was unfolding differently than we expected.  Much to our initial disappointment, even our anniversary dinner turned out to be family-style.

Really, it’s understandable that these months have been tough.  He’s been consumed with professional demands.  The same demands that I’ve encouraged and we’ve prayed for.  I’ve focused intently on details of the move.  I front-load stress; once the move is underway I’ll be calm, but right now my planner is covered in lists and reminders and post-it-notes.  It’s created a tension. Our words pass each other like ships in the sea, but our radars are facing inward.

Tension is also useful; it forces us to grow or to atrophy.  And we choose growth.  To remember to listen and put phones or lists down.  To ask what the other needs, but do our best to anticipate.  To confront the other’s frustration or fear, despite the clock showing it’s nearly midnight.

Through the tension, it’s moments of light–sometimes fleeting–that remind us to smile or to cherish the moment.  Laughing at breakfast over a plate of passion fruit.  Meeting him at the door when he comes home late.  Dinner at our favorite pizza spot to celebrate small successes.  Walking around the neighborhood with the old Rolleicord.  Opening a bottle of wine together and drinking just one glass.

Similarly, when I notice shapes of light on the floors and the walls, as they silently shift from the sun’s rise or set, I pause to cherish.  I remember that God is in the light, and growth is in the tension.

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