And sore must be the storm…

As winter hits its stride, I find myself thinking about hope in the midst of life’s storms. When the gale comes in full-blown, I hunker down and ride it out. Believing and hoping that I will out last it and survive for another day. I am a survivor of a few big storms. I have learned from them and moved on, hopefully, a better person.  I am finding, however, that these big storms have taken their toll and I am recently overwhelmed by little ones.

My dryer, for example. We just put in a new motor. This took several weeks of troubleshooting and A LOT of help from my Dad. As a family of two adults and 4 teenagers, it took us most of the week to “catchup”. We used it for about a week and today I go to dry a load and it is not heating up! I found myself unreasonably devastated. I felt abandoned, dismayed and angry.

My husband, who suffers from Traumatic Brain Injury, has a few good days and I’m hopeful. He wakes up moody, depressed and with a headache and I tremble. We are five years into this and have seen incredible healing and recovery. As a family, we have fought to keep moving through the grief and learn to love this new person–to re-define what it means to be us. Then our headlight goes out in the van and I feel like giving up.

So all this to bring us back to the little bird of hope…and the next part of the poem: Hope is the Thing with Feathers (from the first post):

And sweetest–in the Gale– is heard-

And sore must be the storm-

that could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm.

I choose hope–to have hope even in the small squalls. They come in quickly and unexpectedly and I will still be standing when they pass…in my wet, un-dried clothes but standing.

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