“Yesterday is ashes; tomorrow is wood. Only today does the fire burn brightly.” ~Old Proverb

A clank, a splash, dish washing noise mingles with children’s voices, and one of our favorite bits of music, Loreena McKinnett’s “The Book of Secrets”.  I wipe away the hot chocolate rings from a mug, rinsing, and dipping my hands into the hot water again. Each dish, a drink sipped, a meal shared, a person strengthened, sustained. The twinkle lights flickering in my peripheral vision. I don’t often do dishes anymore. Noah is away, my wonderful dish washer for this year, so I’m back sink-front. Momentarily wandering, I vaguely remember the long days with all little children needing me, all the chores done by my own hand, instead of the family effort it is now, and how short the years do end up being. I was listening to a podcast recently, and this jumped out at me. That idea that we have to overcome our fears, an idea we’ve heard for years, what if it’s wrong? What about just working alongside of our fear? Living and working with the fear. Not letting it overwhelm us, but humbly acknowledging it, and just keep going. For myself, my faith has an answer for fear. It’s Love. Love so great, fear cowers piteously. This idea continues to rattle around in my head, just how much, and how far I go to overcome or put off something until I’ve “mastered” my fear of failure, discomfort, change, or of whatever random unknown it may be at the moment.

However, there is something to be said for just putting one foot in front of the other, no matter if the next step is off a cliff. We just don’t know what tomorrow holds. Why let it rob today? Urgent care visits yesterday for my Ben, his airway restricted due to a cold triggering asthma-like symptoms.  Family issues, broken down vehicles, and puke staining the floor can make me afraid. Afraid that I can’t do this. Afraid that my comfort is being challenged. My whiny-First-World little self can’t handle the heat.

Yet, fear can be kept at bay. I can live alongside my old enemy, all its nasty, looming shape-shifting grotesque self. I can hug the little wheezing boy, kissing him, giving him another asthma treatment, reading a dinosaur book. I can search for those lost keys, carefully choose a new t shirt for Noah that I know he is going to love for Christmas. I can just be with these people. I don’t have to be anything special, I just have to be. Fear may be sitting alongside me, but I’m choosing to notice my Phoebe’s hands cutting out little shapes, I’m choosing to notice the flicker of candle light, the raindrops suspended on the clothesline, Sam’s elaborate drawings and stories. I’m choosing to appreciate the way the light hits the stack of clean dishes on the counter. I’m choosing to live with gratitude that I’m here today, surrounded by gifts, tangible and intangible. I hold onto the infinitely small, those little candles lighting the way through the enormous cavern of life. Sure they send out only small rays, but it’s just the right amount light to see my way for today. And that’s enough.

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