I looked out the window, and I saw a thick, cloudy sky of gray. In my backyard, I can see some color, but it’s not like the vibrant hues I can find on trees in other areas of my town. I see plants and wildflowers beginning to wilt and yield themselves toward this season.
“I miss summer already,” I thought. Then I thought about how this, too, will return later. It’s time to be present with this season now.
Then I pondered, “What if we didn’t know summer would reemerge? What if we had no idea that spring would bring blossoms and new growth? What if we had no cyclical knowledge?”
In that case, this current change would be pretty scary. We would assume this is all it is, and that we’re moving toward a perpetual worse. But thank goodness, we are able to anticipate and basically, trust the process when nature shifts.
Can we trust the process when… we shift? Or when life shifts around us? Or for us? Or even to us?
Can we anticipate that goodness is possible too? That it can arise? That it can at very least accompany the pains? And often grow large enough to hold them? And in some cases, become expansive enough to transform them?
I’ve learned a great deal from a person who says this:
“As long as love remains, there is hope.”
If love remains — even in change, even in moments that feel like utter tumultuousness — there is hope. There is hope for vitality. There is hope for transformation. There is hope for renewal. There is hope for connection and re-connection. There is hope for growth.
If there is love, there is hope.
If there is hope, there are possibilities.
If there are possibilities, there is change.
If there is change, there is growth.
If there is growth, there is…
—Renee Roederer
Smuggling Grace 