Silver Linings

We have a broken downspout on the northwest corner of my home. It is missing the part that allows the water to move gently from the vertical pipe into the earth. The consequence is that the water free falling from the open downspout creates a lovely puddle every time it rains. This puddle was the sight where, many years ago, Rhys came up to me with a backside covered in mud and proudly announced that he was making snow angels. I am grateful for this puddle. Every night when I sleep, I open my window let fresh air in. As it rains, the water hitting the puddle makes the most enchanting sound – a cross between rain on a tin roof and the babble of a brook. It is a soothing lullaby that only God could provide.

Every morning I take a shower. I love feeling the heat from this waterfall of water cascading down my hair to my cold toes. I love feeling the water run over my eyes and face while I breathe cold air through my nose and mouth. I love how the water warms every inch of my flesh and washes it clean. The dirt, the germs, the aches, the pains and even the weariness of my soul go down the drain with the old water. Tears don't matter in the shower; my eyes are just another spigot from which water flows. On days when I am sad, lonely, tired, happy or sensuous, I revel in the water and let it dance in my cells. For a moment I am calm. I am restored.

On the top shelf of my closet I have stored a wolf pelt. This wolf pelt was my mother’s. It’s a dark, dark brown wolf. She had it tanned, for some reason, in the round, meaning that it does not lie flat on the ground, legs spread eagle, but instead looks very much like the animal without any muscles, bone or innards. She loved this pelt and thought it was gorgeous. The summer she died she made sure to show it to me and to her sisters who came to visit. I remember it lying at the foot of her bed. Every time she moved her feet, the pelt would stir. My daughter thought it was a doggy. We discussed how this was the very best kind of dog: it was beautiful; it would sit as still as could be for a petting session that only need last as long as I wanted it to; it required no food and therefore, no poop; it wouldn’t bite, bark, lick, pant, etc.. That summer I would place my arm up the tube of the body of the wolf ending with my hand in its head. The legs and tail would dangle down and I would animate the head much like a puppet, further convincing my daughter that this was indeed a dog. She loved her new puppy. Upon the death of my mother, the aunties all decided that this perfect pet was needed at my home. So it sits, at the top of my closet. Whenever I get a glimpse of that rich, dark pelt, I remember those perfect moments from that summer.

I love clean sheets. I zealously horde the pleasure of being the first person to lie upon the clean sheets on my bed. Rhys reads for about half an hour each night in my room so Quinn can sleep and Rhys can stay up and Mommy and Daddy can have quiet time. When I have clean sheets, however, Rhys doesn't get to snuggle beneath the covers. I need to be the first person to enjoy the soft, cool cleanliness.

There is a precious small moment in between sleep and waking; that very first moment I open my eyes and I lie awash in the new day God has made but I am free from any disturbing memories. In that moment, my mother is not dead, my family has not fallen apart, there is no stress or sadness, just a knowledge that this is a new, fresh day and I am alive in it. I can breathe. I can see the glory of life. For just a moment, there is pure joy.

I love the feel of our new kitten, her soft thick fur, strands of silk against my cheek. I love to listen to her purr as she lies upon my chest. I love the weight of her, a little ball of heat nestled at my side.

My daughter dances in her tiara, feather boa and fairy wings while singing "The beast and the fowl of the air, will all have their share, so God can prove that He is there." Rhys reads Gregor the Overlander to Quinn. Robert washes my dishes. The heater in my van works. Hot cocoa made with real chocolate chips and whole milk for breakfast. Wrangling puffles and playing mancala with my sister-in-law on Club Penguin. The feel of a new book. The color of fall leaves. Our lone fish bubbling to the surface of his ice cream bucket fish bowl begging for food every five minutes. A working pencil sharpener. A new episode of Grey's Anatomy. God's whisper that He is carrying me even now.

All silver linings.