After the hush of winter, hibernating, spring came with a slew of possibilities that began a cascade of events, one of which left my husband looking for another job. The ending of the old one was sudden, gentle, and right, better than we'd imagined, but also a tad scary.(And by the way, if anyone knows of an IT Director or VP job available, please let me know and I'll pass the word on to my husband.)
I know this is God's plan for our family. I can feel the taste of spring in the air after such a winter. There is bright promise ahead, and the way all this has happened is exactly what needed to happen so we could be where we are at this moment. Difficult? Yes, but I am exercising faith. Hope is where it's at these days, though I too often fall into depression lately. Yet the hope is still there, poking its head through the warm soil of life.
Last night I had a dream, where a former employer came to me before one of my last classes. He said, "You knew this was going to happen," meaning that I knew my time there wouldn't last long when I signed on for it. I deeply felt the truth of those words. Then he looked at me intently, and quietly spoke again, and it wasn't advice, but a statement: "You hold your head high because you are a daughter of God." That was the last I remember of the dream. I hope, through everything I have been and tried to be here, that people remember that I held my head high because I am a daughter of God. That I did the best I could to be what He wanted me to be. I was so far from perfect, but I tried. I really did. He had a plan in all of this, and someday I hope to discover what that was.
Today, while pondering the elements of change, thinking of the push and pull it requires, both in humans and in animals, the essence of a poem came to me. I don't write poetry often, but at times when my writing has been few and far between, poetry lets me--with order and like a whirlwind--hurl thought-feelings onto the page. This isn't a poem as much as a story that was impressed on my mind, without words, so I tried to transform the thoughts into something readable.
My husband remarked the other day that I have never been as happy as when I used to write.
Today, I found some happy.
“You’re a worm!” they Cry
I’m not, it Thinks,
But what if I were?
What’s wrong with Living lowly?
Without worms there would be fields of
Yet those words, they Pierce
And though it tries unflinchingly
Will never be steel.
It Hides in pale silver threads
Moonlight, starlight, warm and soft night
Endless solace Snaps
Long protected. Must escape NOW!
Webs blacken white silk
Blood-streaked tears in self-spun tomb.
Spent. Done. Then a handful of Sun