Both of my last two blog posts are true pictures of my family. There is great pain and great beauty side by side in my home.
Lord, you know me intimately: my then, my now, my after – as you know all that is in the universe.
My children’s virtue is a good aim. When my children’s virtue is about making me look good, I am in the wrong. From this posture I wrote, but with mixed and confusing motives. I could feel but not pinpoint them. I see there can be a heart that is proud of being broken, a heart that looks at the proud people and is so glad it is not like them.
Everyone says the moral of Thanksgiving is to be thankful. And it is. The Pilgrims took a deep breath and said, “We made it. Look at this harvest, we’ve stored up what we need for next winter, and we give thanks to God.” But I can’t help thinking about that first dark winter, and the poverty of isolation, the shivering widows standing at the graves of their babies under a chilly moon. God forbid that someone finds out we’re not doing okay…