restore.

The last throws of the wrestle are often the quietest and hardest to endure. It is not enough to say that we haven’t worked through the “stuff”; the thoughts and feelings that plague us constantly to the point where we come to understand that they will never truly go away. Perhaps in the joy of grief’s intimate and infinite broken pieces is the restoration that follows in the growth that comes like a new leaf on a forgotten vine. The first buds of spring after a hard and harsh winter. The sound of birds returning after a season of quiet suspended silence.

Maybe it’s an understanding of the cyclical nature of things, that even decay holds as much weight in beauty than the initial birth of things. That for every season and point of time, comes a purpose of reconciliation and reckoning. A poignant reminder to each and everyone of us that nothing truly ever last forever. It’s difficult to stop and pause your way through a season, because in hindsight, we were always thought to floor our way though them.

Restoration is an ongoing process. A journey we all endure with courage and endurance to step out further into the promise of things. My prayer for the moment as Spring forms itself to a close, is the practice of new life. A reminder that we have all come and gone from places lesser than where we currently stand. That joy and love requires nothing but effort, but even in this climate it seems even a tall ask. May we recall ourselves to the journey and promise we made at the very start of it all. An accountability towards the very parts of us we never wish to sway. Not of ashes or withered decay, but an eternal recall, that every goodbye is a new hello, and that every hello is a closed and locked door.