Goodness Gracious, Spring is beautiful here in Tennessee.

It feels like a tangible awe and appreciation for life has been poured straight into my heart. There is a certain innocent high that comes to me while I walk our land lately. I shuffle on my green garden clogs and admire the contrast as I step along a long red dirt path, the sedge grass lush, blowing gently in the breeze like a rolling wave. Orange butterflies have emerged from their chrysalises, and the fireflies have begun to do their nightly dance. The creekwater is still perfectly crisp and chilly, and oh so inviting on the recent 80-degree days. We took Jasper down to it for the first time last night, and he sat in perfect contentment on a rock while the water gently kissed his chunky little legs. He was mesmerized, his blue blue eyes captivated as he took it in for the first time, yet he also held a poetic understanding of the rushing water that I think we all carry (we forget, and remember, and forget again).

Sage and I had the first weekend in possibly years where we focused on having fun. Minimal work, emphasis on togetherness, quality time, intimacy, and joy. It felt so sweet and was deeply, deeply needed. We got all gussied up and went to the rodeo with friends, ignored the to-do list, got coffee and burritos after church, hung out on the patio drinking iced lemonade, spent time in the garden, and dipped in the creek at sunset. All accompanied by our radiant, giggling, sweet-as-cream blessing of a son. His joy is contagious, and people have been telling me I am beaming happiness lately - and I feel it. I am just SO grateful to be a Mom again. Waking up with him smiling at me each morning feels like cause for endless celebration.

I was trying to put words to this feeling of celebration, and I found this quote:

“The endurance of darkness is the preparation for great light.” - St. John of the Cross

Sometimes I blink in a haze and remember all that I’ve experienced in the last few years. To look at my son now and think “he’s already older than Alinah ever was,” trying to wrap my head around the memory of losing her, knowing that I loved her as I love Jasper. How did I survive? How is it possible to bear so much pain yet gently emerge now with such profound joy? It feels superhuman - and that’s the whole point. (It could only be God.)

At times, the wound still feels fresh, and I’m reminded again that grief is a lifelong teacher. A few days ago, I was carrying Jasper, feeling a little blue with no real explanation as to why. I prayed for peace, love, and gratitude to come into my heart. Within minutes, Sage comes barreling down the hill in the Kubota and stops in front of us, handing me a wee bouquet of the most brilliantly colored flowers. Purples, vibrant pink roses, and sweet daisies.

He looks me in the eyes and says:

“From your Daughter”

Pang - right to the heart.

We both let our eyes fill full with bittersweet tears as we stared at each other, communicating silently the history of our love’s trials and triumphs. Just like that, there she was, with us for a moment. Because Love has no boundaries, it cannot be contained by time or even by death. How did Sage know to bring flowers from Alinah’s grave to me at the exact moment I was praying for love to come to me? (It could only be God.)

I believe God speaks through us and to us in many ways,

I am (and always will be) in the process of getting quiet enough to hear.

“God spoke today in flowers, and I, who was waiting on words, almost missed the conversation” - Ingrid Goff-Maidoff