Yup, really. 487 days from the first mask I saw driving past... then into lockdowns, levels, alert levels and blah blah. On Day 123 - which was pretty much exactly a year ago - I was counting all the things going on.
Today I can add a few extra numbers. My parents 50th wedding anniversary. Luke is now 12, Jessica about to turn 14. Two hockey games this year. One holiday away to Vermont/Onrus. One pulmonary embolism experience (with several embolisms in my lungs). I have forgotten how many "My fellow South African" speeches. Ah, and of course, the mad few days of looting and rioting that has left SA shaking.
I'm not sure we can make sense of it all. Maybe we don't have to?
That embolism had me walking the narrow path between fear and faith, all with the strange out-of-body-feeling that you get when you can't quite believe it IS happening and happening to you. Facing eternity wondering what is/was on the list to do before stepping across the line. And what has been left unsaid, undone, unfinished. All while dealing with achy sore lungs, kids who don't really realise how fine that line is/was and my own selfishness while a very patient long-suffering supportive husband picks up all the slack and works 200% throughout too.
I do know that God is the strength of my heart, and comfortingly, my portion forevermore. I pray that He will be the strength of my family's hearts. And of my nation.
I have become fascinated with the sunrise and early morning light. It's so beautiful and soft. It's gentle and a gift to hold in the harsher light of day. It's a bit like hope. And rainbows.
Which brings me back to 487 days. I am not sure I am more resilient. I cannot grab and own the light or gifts or people or hope.
Instead, I find that it is my God who gently holds and whispers to me. He's even in the silence.
