This past month has been progressively more humbling.

I kept hoping I would wake up feeling better.  I kept hoping all month that I would be able to just keep it all up somehow.

Another recent hospital visit has humbled me.  I have had to learn to accept what I once rejected:




Now, I spend my days in bed, listening to the sweet, loving voice of my mother downstairs.  The voice I grew up hearing.  The voice that always made me feel better as a small child is now making my children feel better during a time when their own mother can’t.  It’s been very, very humbling.

I’ve also rarely, if ever, felt so much gratitude, and I wish I were better at expressing it.

A week ago, I found myself wondering why all the time.  Why someone who wants to do good things and who yearns to be a good mother would be denied the ability to do it for so long.

But the physical struggles I have been facing have allowed me a time of spiritual growth that I think I was unknowingly growing too busy for, before this happened.

I’ve been reminded and taught so many things this week.  Finally, I’ve been quiet enough to listen.

One is the dear reminder that life is fragile, and it is such a gift.  There is purpose and meaning.  It may not always be clear, but it is there, and will be found in time, if sought.

My life is not a coincidence.  I find myself letting many things go this week.  Finally.  I find myself making quiet choices about what I really want to spend my time on.  What really matters.

Blessed am I.


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