I'm straying away from my normal blog fare for now. Don't worry, I'll be back on track soon, but right now life is serving up lessons by the bucketful. As I indicated in my previous post (A Big Big Love), my life has been turned pretty well on its head the past month. I've had to make some tough choices, and examine my life path in a new way. Thankfully, I have an army of lovefamily who support and encourage and inspire me. I'm handing out as much love as I can muster, and offering up as much compassion as I can find.
I've found I'm committed in a way I never imagined. My truth is this: When you make a commitment to a person, especially one you love, or have loved, you do everything you can to honor that commitment, as long as you are honoring yourself as well. This may mean swallowing your pride, doling out forgiveness in many directions, or simply learning to quiet your mind and follow your heart. It may mean the going is very tough for a while, but the opportunity to reclaim what you once had is the prize at the end of the tough run.
I'm starting to see love for what it is. Love is not constant, it is not effortless. It ebbs and flows, and is a tidal wave just when you need it. It can seem to be nearly gone, and suddenly crash in on you. It grows when you tend it, and withers when you neglect it.
My final thought for the day is about closure. I've had several life-altering events in my life, and I would often go scrambling for closure, chasing it down, not waiting. Inevitably, time would pass, and my closure would start to seem less like closure, and I'd have to start the process over. I've now learned that forced closure is often not closure at all, but simply a cork in a bottle of emotion that will ferment and fester and explode without warning. When I was devastated by the events surrounding my son's birth, I made a choice to sit back and wait for the peace to overtake me. It took a long time. I was wounded and sad for what seemed like eons, and I was frustrated because I couldn't seem to get over it. But then, slowly, I started to climb up the other side of the pit of despair. And that closure felt comfortable and right and easy to bear. Closure is a funny thing. It comes in strange ways, and sometimes you don't see it until later. But you certainly can't force it.