“What gifts?”
A question I have asked myself over and over and over again this week as I settled my mind on “springing ahead,” even the clock speaking of the hope of longer daylight and warmer spirits.
“What gifts came as a result of the darkness of this year of all years?”
I am usually someone who rushes over the grief and wants to spring right to positivity and happy things. I like that. I’m definitely a “spring-forward” girl.
But I am learning that it does NOT work. I can’t just rush to JOY. Nor should I.
So when that question came, I paused. I really paused.
First, I need to speak of the darkness.
Of the soul.
Of the cocoony, wintery, messy, middle-of-the-muck-and-mire-stuff.
Of the death of life as I knew it almost exactly a year ago.
Of all the loss in every facet of society and in my little world.
Losing friends to this monster (youngish ones).
Not having family reunions on both sides.
Isolation and disconnection.
The tearing away of peace of mind.
All the complicated choices to see people safely.
The sheer exhaustion from the stress.
Judgment from everywhere, even my own, about all. the. things.
Lack of motivation.
The constant survival mode feeling.
It’s all been hard. Too hard in many ways. DARK. Really dark.
But my heart (my spring-forward heart) also sees the gifts that can only come as a result of the darkness.
Even the darkness of a horrible-terrible-no-good-very-bad year.
The dark night of our collective souls.
I’ve been watching our rhododendron sleep through the winter, the buds closed tight, hunkering down.
At one point in the coldest and snowiest and darkest of days, the buds were covered with ice and the leaves were droopy and frozen.
I stood there looking at it through my big window, marveling that when the light and the warm and the spring finally comes, each frigid bud will burst forth into all the purple blooms that shout beauty and hope.
The blooms are the gifts of the darkness.
So right back to my question.
“What gifts?”
“What gifts came as a result of the darkness of this year of all years?”
Then another, more clarifying question came as well.
“What gifts do I want to bring with me out of the darkness and into the “spring,” into the light?
To be honest, there are many.
Plenty of rest for this recovering-workaholic.
Moments to stare out the window at my sleeping rhododendron covered in snow.
The freedom from all the soul-killing expectations to be busy, busy, busy.
Deep connections with those most important to me.
White space that grants margin for creativity.
Extra time with the Tender Lover of my soul.
Long walks in every kind of weather and the appreciation of nature that comes with them.
Simple thankfulness for things like paper towels and meals with friends.
Discovery of parts of myself that I hadn’t known before and I now like (a lot).
The narrowing of priorities to what really matters.
Deep empathy from and for others in suffering.
There are more and more and more.
Life-changing “terrible gifts” (as CS Lewis calls them) that have only come as a result of the darkness.
Gifts I will continue to unwrap for the rest of my days.
Gifts I will hold onto like a treasure box only meant for me.
Gifts.
Terrible, beautiful, sacred, horrible, hard, holy, very very good gifts.
The gifts of the darkness.
Have I hated this year?
A resounding YES in many ways.
Do I wish it never happened?
A thousand times NO.
I’m peeking out an my rhododendron on this bright, sunny day.
It’s reaching for the light and its leaves are glorious.
The buds are still closed, not quite as tight, and I can see their faint color through the green.
Soon, the purple will unfurl into all of its goodness.
It won’t be for a few more weeks, but I can feel the gift of incredible beauty as if it is right now.
The Dolly Mama 