Perhaps you remember my last post, where I poured out my fears about the possibility that my family would soon die? I have good news: we’re not dead! And we are well past the 8 week incubation period, so I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief. We dodged that bullet…or…virus.
Somehow after that traumatic brush with death, we got swept up in lathering on sunscreen, playing at the park, planning backcountry camping trips, and reading as many summer novels as we could. The Littles experienced their first train trip and their first pseudo-backpacking trip. We played together at family camp, where my husband, oldest daughter, and I went parasailing, another first for us. Somehow in all of that, plus the craziness of getting everyone back in the rhythm of school this fall, I neglected to write.
I must be honest with you. There were so many times this summer when my fingers were itching to type words in response to some of the things we were watching unfold: police violence, civilian violence, race tensions, political gong shows. Maybe the sadness of it all was too much for me to put into words. Or maybe it felt like there were enough words out there already. Or maybe I am too timid to jump into such controversial discussions. I think it was a combination of those reasons.
Regardless, it was a season of not writing. And my soul has missed it. So. Much.
So, my friends (if there are any of you left), I’m back. I’m ready to start finding the sacred in the mundane stuff of life, again. To reflect on what I see happening around me. To offer words as prayer and scraps of hope in a world that often feels unsteady.
If you’re back, too, thank you.
P.S. You should know that, to keep my life interesting, once the threat of the Hantavirus had passed, I decided to significantly risk my life on a backpacking trip with my husband.