proof of life


My calendar tells me it's the first day of spring. The winter temps that keep creeping back in beg to differ.

So does my heart.

The past few months? They've been crazy hard. For a long list of reasons.

And when I look ahead to the next few months? The horizon gives me no reason to think the hard is gonna let up.

The other day I stumbled on some of Elizabeth Gilbert's words... "I'm making space for the unknown future to fill up my life with yet-to-come surprises." And when I read those words, I couldn't help but wish I could say them with honesty and earnest. But I can't. Not really.

Most of the time, the "unknown future" takes up plenty of space all on its own. The fog is thick and heavy and makes it hard to breathe.

Most of the time, the "unknown future" looks daunting. It's scary to no longer see the picture of where I'm headed. I used to—and it was wonderful!—and I loved the image of what lied ahead. And then when I had to grieve the loss of what was, I also had to grieve the loss of what would be.

I'm learning (maybe more than I ever have before) to enjoy the now, to live in the present. But I want also to learn to "make space for the unknown future"—recognizing that it could very well bring with it "yet-to-come surprises" that are—it's possible—good.

So I'm working hard to lift my eyes, lift my heart, lift my hopes to see the wonder, mystery, grace, and whimsy in the uncharted future. To make space for possibility. To embrace ambiguity. To lean in, even when I don't know where it's going.

It might not seem like much from the outside looking in, but I assure you—from the inside looking out—it's demanding an enormous amount of courage for this tattered heart of mine.

And so on this first day of spring, I am celebrating even the tiniest signs of new life.

Even when they look like small brave steps toward the unknown future...