Perfection is attained by slow degrees; it requires the hand of time.
A curious thing happens as I journey through this life, and it happens when I need it most.
Sometimes God compels me to just stop, put my feet up and rest a while.
I have spent the last ten days recovering from surgery. It was a planned procedure, but more painful and complicated than anticipated, and the same can be said of its aftermath. Despite the discomfort, I have spent these days in unexpected ways. Instead of the typical and constant evaluation of my life~the ocean wide chasm that dwells between everything I wish to do and the heartbreaking realities of illness~I have spent this time well, in balance and peace and everything else I have craved.
I had a moment last week when a twinge of pain and hopelessness almost had me falling down the lupus rabbit hole again. Seconds later, as if to catch me, my sweet furry son looked up at me, rested his tiny head on my knee, and with speaking, soulful eyes said, Mommy, please be happy.
Fleeting tears disappeared. I rubbed his velvet ears between my fingers and kissed his tiny, sweet nose. I took a deep, soul cleansing breath, and with my camera in hand I stepped outside into the blue above and green below; amazing texture, depth and hue all around. Sleepy flowers emerging at the siren song of spring.
These are the things, the moments, that fuel me. Love and family. Beauty and simplicity. Inspiration and nature. The art and celebration of slow.
It feels good, being free of the usual and unnecessary pressures; knowing that what I need is right here, knowing that inspiration lives within the walls of my loving home, and sits mere steps outside my front door. The worry and frenetic pace I have known for too long isn’t the answer.
Rest, and the peace and perspective it brings, most certainly is.