My husband often recalls the day his family only had one potato to share between his two brothers. His mother, who had forgone the meal herself, was crying, and Tolga refused to eat as well so his younger brothers could eat. He went outside to play and be happy for his family. He chose to be happy for them.
I can only pray that I will choose better in the future, to be happy for him.
My aunt said that to me today, that life is hard. I'm not sure why I (we) expect life to be easy, but I do - I expect happy endings. I cried when I read "The Hobbit" because I could so relate to his fear of leaving the safety of his home - the "cost" of adventure. He started his life, his calling , when he left the Shire - but on many occasions he longed for the warmth and comfort of his chair by the fire.
I know the feeling.
We were at my cousin's bridal shower today - my cousin is adopted and the fact is obvious because she is multi-racial and our family is mostly Scandinavians. Her biological mother was there too, as she had reconnected with her many years ago. One mother's joy, was maybe another mother's pain - and today, my cousin is the joy of both mothers. It is a similar story with the family she is marrying into - she has one son from another relationship, her husband has two children from another as well - and both have already created a son - the pain, drama, separation and union over all these years is getting a fresh start with my cousin's marriage and union of many families.
Joy is being multiplied.
How is that possible? I've been mulling over this recently. Another cousin of mine had lost her second son a year ago, he was a stillborn, having died in the womb a week before delivery. I could only begin to empathize with their suffering - how nothing could ease their loss, and even the suggestion that happiness could return was insulting. My cousin suffered through another pregnancy - and I say suffered because the anxiety and fear of losing another child could not be lifted. Her third son was born recently and I felt overcome with joy and celebration. I was surprised at my strong emotions and I felt a glimpse of how rich joy can be, indeed - because of the suffering and loss, this birth felt so precious.
Is that what it takes, severe loss for us to appreciate gifts? I am afraid of this.
On a much smaller scale, I can relate. I complain about a lot of things. My health, my fitness, my finances - but everytime I dislocate my shoulder I am completely humbled. I've always wondered why. Instead of feeling angry that I was hurt again, I feel vulnerable, and grateful when its relocated. Grateful that I'll be okay, that the pain was only temporary.
Grateful.
I feel like I'm getting a taste of something during those times, but the taste doesn't last and I forget. I forget to be grateful. And then things happen . . . life happens. Life is hard, full of hard things to bear so why do we walk around expecting good things? And yet, here I hope for better things when we have good things: we have our health, each other, support, relatives that are well, near and far. For our sufferings are only temporary, and as another aunt quoted "weeping may last through the night, but joy will come in the morning."
For all our weeping and , in my case - sniveling - joy will come. Time will come that we are overwhelmed with gratefulness again -- and in the meantime, I'm hoping I can buck up - not give up.
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