For the past couple days, when I’ve been driving home from work I see sparks of lightening in all colors shooting through the heavy cement of a highway nestled in the foothills of the mountains. And oh my, is it exquisitely terrifying. Today, I had a mental breakthrough as I was driving to pick up muffin tins and bread. My heart is so crushingly and hopelessly broken while entirely bursting with joy. I hadn’t realized these two were being held in contention within my chest, really not allowing me to feel either of them the way I should be. It didn’t feel right to feel two totally opposite things at the same time, and yet, given the extreme circumstances, it is altogether logical and completely possible. Once I noticed that and allowed myself to feel both, in all their wonder and all their treachery, I felt free. Not less sad, or more happy, but free to be.

When I was little, my grandma read us this book called Stella Luna. It was about a little bat, welcomed into a family of owls when she was very small. All the other baby owls knew how to sleep right-side up, but no matter how hard Stella Luna tried, she flipped upside down, her little feet wrapped around the branches. “Oh I will never learn to sleep like the other owls do”, Stella Luna felt altogether hopeless, and yet, she slept so well when she was upside down. I’ve been feeling so much like Stella Luna these days. No matter how hard I try to right myself, I just end up flipped upside down, blood rushing and pooling at the tip of my skull. But it’s the only way it has allowed me to see what I need to see. Sure, it’s uncomfortable and wildly impractical, but it works. And honestly, praise for that since everything seems to be shattering at my feet these days.

I am so desperate for revival. Revival of souls, revival of kindness, revival of hope. Ugh, I need more hope these days. And yet, in the same drive to the grocery store to get muffin tins and bread, I realized that even just a teaspoon of hope is worthy of being praised. That sometimes, that teaspoon must be praised in order to multiply, birth, give life to all the things that feel so dead inside. And really, how difficult must it be to praise something that is so life-giving, so present, so warm. How difficult is it to look at something that opens a door to a magical field of light and radiance and not love that thing for opening such a wondrous door. It’s too good to not believe. After everything I’ve seen in my life as a chunky little one, to the bike rides of disappointments, to the slimy stealth of pain and fists, to these past two years of extreme discomfort and loss, it’s too good to not believe. It is too good to not hear, to not wonder, to not seek the endless song of “welcome home”. RUN towards that song.