Facing the Night

A year ago this time, I'd been through two recent miscarriages and was struggling to make sense of them. One night, my husband let the kids loose in the backyard after dark and we ended up joining them. Somehow, that time became a release for me and that night, I sat down and wrote about it in a notebook. I found the entry a few months ago and thought it would be a good post for October, a sort of reflection on how far I'd come in a year.

Not long after finding that entry, my husband was diagnosed with cancer. A year ago we were running through a backyard on a strangely warm October night. This Tuesday, I went with my husband to get his first blood transfusion.

I still think about the darkness I wrote about in that entry, how it somehow felt safe despite the blackness around us. Maybe it was knowing we were protected by the fence line, hearing the laughter of my children, or letting go of the need to see everything. I don't know for sure.

But I have found that in this new darkness, I've felt a similar comfort. A sense of safety, and even though I can't always see it with my eyes, a very real presence of love. So here is my entry, and I hope you can find the courage to face your unknowns with the knowledge that everything you need can be found through our Savior, who is a light in every dark place.


October, 2016

The sky is dark at seven, wrapping around us, quiet and embracing. October shouldn't be this warm. But I'll take it. Halloween costumes donned, the kids race into the backyard. We finally have a use for the glowing pink and green pumpkin flashlights I bought last year. No pretense. No crowds. Just a fence on three sides. Even the neighbors feel distant, faded. Here is our rectangle of grass, our space, made intimate by night.

I follow them in circles, running, running. My husband joins us. Pumpkin flashlights turn wizard's wand and light saber. A strange battle ensues. Harry Potter meets Darth Vader while my son cries stupefy and expelliarmus. For the three year old, giants and monsters are still enough to satisfy her need for adventure, especially if I'm the monster.

We play and things slip away. Unburdened, I laugh freely for the first time all day. It seems my body is stronger without the weight of day. I run longer than before. It's beautiful, uninhibited.

Something is here in the darkness, strength, and joy and love, even though I cannot see. The light of my children, the light I carry, gleams even brighter against this blackness. Why have I been so afraid of the unknown? It's everything I need.