I am taking tentative steps back into this space, into the world of words shared and images captured and the marriage of the two. What revelation I receive seems to come in that weaving, when the seen and the spoken twist together and I recognize the truth of where I’m sitting in the patterns that emerge.
It has always been so. A Word spoken called into pulsing being the visible world, and then we were tasked with what to call what was made. And then when we fall silent the creation itself calls out praise to the original Maker and Speaker. And for me, eventually I rejoin this conversation again.
I’ve been silent here for weeks. My father-in-law passed away in the last days of March, leaving a hole in our family and in the order of our lives. Because my own father died when I was seventeen, John’s dad has been for me as well as for John an anchor in this world. He was brave and truthful and honorable in his living and his dying. We knew he loved us, and his passing brought an end to pain and struggle for him. We received the mercy in it, even as we felt the loss for ourselves.
And for a time, even today as I sit here, the world has seemed somehow too large without him. We have shepherded our boys through their first great loss, knowing that the first death of a loved one makes all kind of unimaginable things possible to them. We have drawn close, held hands, listened, and wept. We have remembered and been grateful for moments to forget now and then. Undeniably, a showy Upstate Spring has been somewhat dimmed this year.
And yet, we’re starting to find, there’s light sometimes. Around the edges of life, there begin to be memories that don’t hurt, smiles that come more easily. Good food begins to taste good, and good work produces a good tired at the end of the day. I’m getting out the camera a little more, and John is laughing a little more, and the boys are very focused on the end of school and summer and basketball and ice cream.
Outside Creation is singing, and some days we able to join the song again.