But tonight, as I sit here in a quieted-down house, a thought pushes its way into my mind and refuses to be ignored...
Maybe I could.
Maybe I could blog again. Maybe, just once in a while, I could make time for this. Maybe, every so often, I could find enough mental energy at the end of the day to jot down a few thoughts, rather than reading or mindlessly scrolling through Facebook or collapsing in sleep. Maybe I could set aside the tasks that surround me and scream "URGENT," and instead remember the value of recording life in this way. Maybe...
So tonight, I will...with no firm promise about when this feat shall be repeated! :)
Ever since the spring of 2012, when Moriah was born, bringing the spectacular beauty of daughterhood into our home, lilacs have held special meaning for me, far beyond their loveliness and fragrance. Here is the beginning of that tale.
The spring of 2018 was different. For the first time since Moriah's birth (and many years before that), we didn't live in the house with the lilac bushes behind it. True, we were great friends with our former neighbors, the current owners of the house; but we no longer lived there, and I didn't want to intrude in any way on the owners or the new renters that had moved into my childhood home. But my heart ached a little at the abrupt ending of the cherished tradition of going with Moriah to cut bouquets of lilacs every spring (an example is here). "Should I ask them if I could still take pictures of Moriah beside the lilac bushes?" I wondered, but never inquired, convincing myself that perhaps it was best to let the tradition slip away. Since so much in life had changed because of our move to northern Virginia, was it necessary to hang onto that bit of sameness? But I felt a tinge of sadness, even as my pragmatic side called out, "Let it go!"
And then, one Monday evening, during a visit to the Shanks, the wonderful family we had lived beside for over a dozen years, they offered to give us a bouquet of those lilacs. My heart leaped! This could be a way to preserve the tradition!
We brought those glorious blooms back to Annandale, and the next day, Moriah wore a purple dress and stood in our front yard, holding the bouquet in the vase we always used for lilacs. No, she wasn't standing on the soil where the lilacs grew, but it's okay for flowers to be carried to new places.
It's okay for that to happen to people, too.
Sometimes when we're carried along like that, we get to bring with us pieces of the old days.
At times like this, that is a gift that gladdens the soul and brightens the heart--a sweet reminder of the tender love of God, who knows all and sees all.
Even the longings of our heart.
Even when we haven't even whispered them to anyone else.