In that moment

In that moment I hated everything. In all the glory and wonder of this earth; despite my knowledge of the blind, deaf, and paralyzed people and the fact that I was not one of them. Regardless of my home and food while others in the world suffocated in hunger and disease. Somehow none of that mattered. I knew there were countless couples that would trade all their quiet nights for all our sleepless and scream-filled nights. I knew that my angry and crying baby was a blessing. It meant that she was alive.

 

But yet.

 

In that moment I hated everything.

 

I wasn’t in the mood to be grateful. I just wanted to sleep.

 

I wasn’t even sane enough to admit to the comedy of it all. We had been trying for an hour to get her to sleep. We finally did and then some metal object fell from the stool Buck was sitting on, clinking on the floor and jolting June from her fragile slumber into grave-raising screams.

 

But then as Buck’s shadow danced over the ceiling in the nightlight while he swayed back and forth trying to sooth our little monster, I wondered- was there something more to all of this that I wasn’t understanding? Was there beauty born under the mellow moon each night as we struggled with new life?

 

And of course, there is. But it goes beyond blessings. Beyond us. It’s wound up in dark hours of helping each other and learning. Remembering. There is something unspoken that God is teaching us. Somehow those moments of frustration and shadows and tears are the moments we find ourselves communing with heaven.

 

Somehow.