Maybe it’s easier to allow my attention to get caught up in a whirlwind of anxiety about things over which I have little or no control than it is to love well. Not maybe. It is.
I wish it wasn’t so but it is.
The news cycle is tough right now. We’ve been on this road before. I don’t know the answers; I don’t even know all the questions. But I know there’s a human being with a hurting heart who could use a kind word and a prayer offered on her behalf today.
I’m pretty sure we all do.
Maybe we’re that person. Maybe it’s easier to speculate and pontificate than to admit that in the quiet place where we’re raw and real with ourselves, we’re in scared and in pain. Maybe we could use a kindness and a prayer.
Maybe we all feel that way.
Maybe we’re only as alone as we choose.
Maybe tomorrow will be better or maybe it won’t. Maybe it will just be different.
There are clumps of tiny purple crocuses in my garden. They look a lot like hope. And even though right now I hear the scrape of my neighbour’s snow shovel on his driveway, there are things happening and awakening beneath the surface of the cold soil in my garden I can’t see. But I can, for sure, see promise. And grace.
And I can, for sure, choose to do my level best to focus more on love than fear today.