We have a new dog. He is soft. He is cuddly. He doesn't shed. My children love him. They wanted him. They begged for him. I see the joy in their eyes. The love that flows, when they interact with him in their own individual ways, makes my heart smile. I know that it was God's plan to have him join our family. It was the right time and he was the right dog. I love him! We all do. Even the hubby who tries to deny it has been heard uttering baby talk to him. This dog is irresistible. Here he is. His name is Hardsun.
Here is the kicker. I also know that he will break our hearts one day. That little girl who is smiling so wide in the picture above, will grieve and her cheeks will be streaked with tears that I cannot stop. The joy that they have for him now, will lead to sadness. There is no way to avoid this. As my husband pointed out recently, "All relationships will end one day."
I guess there was one way we could have sheltered our children from such sadness.We could have totally avoided the whole situation. We could have remained in the pet less population that many families choose. It is easier that way. If we don't love, we don't hurt. But then again, are we really living? Are we experiencing the life we are gifted with, or merely existing? Are we preparing our children for life?
In recent days, the feeling of loss has crept in to my everyday life. From events of the world, to events in our family, my heart has hurt. My chest has felt heavy and I have had days that tears have streaked my face. My once happy smile has been absent. My patience has been tested and my temper has flared.
My thoughts have been swimming in loss. The loss of ones so young and in the prime of their lives. The loss of innocent people cheering on their loved ones as they crossed a finish line. The loss of limbs and dreams. The loss of battles fought long and hard. Battles that were unfairly handed them and not to others.
I have wanted to seek out a cave. I have wanted to roll the rock closed and just be alone. I want to see nothing. I don't want the light to filter in because its images are too overwhelming. I don't want to hear anymore because the sounds are too deafening. I think of other cave dwellers. For I am not alone. There are many reasons we want to retreat.
For some, they have seen such beauty and brilliance, and then it was snatched away. The beauty around them was impressive, and fantastic. It was full of life and vitality. But now that it is gone it is too painful to look at anything. For nothing will replace that loss. For them the cave is a safe place. For them, they cannot and will not allow themselves the pain again of looking at the light. Their heart will remain guarded and under permanent lock and key.
And then I think about life outside that cave. The life we live. The life that has both beauty and brutality. The "brutiful" life my friend, Glennon, writes so poetically about. This is the life that both pulls and pushes us along when we feel we cannot go on anymore. This is the life that my children live in and will grow up in. I cannot keep them from loving and losing any more than I can stop the air from blowing. It is part of their journey. It is part of my journey. It is how we grow and learn to give. To give of things and more importantly of ourselves.
As a parent, I have found that loving my children is the easiest and scariest thing I have ever done. I am not saying that parenting is easy. Please hear me clearly. For the love of GOD, it is the hardest thing I have ever done! But loving them and truly getting to know each of them for the sacred creation of God that they are, is easy. But from the moment I brought them into this world, knowing that they could be gone from my world is the scariest thing to live with each day.
But do I crawl into the cave because it could happen? Did I choose not to be a parent because the prospect of the pain of loss was too much? No. The daily brilliance far outweighs the possibility of the pain. The laughter and smiles take away the fear of the unknown. Experiencing their love and lives overshadows the what ifs. It is more powerful than the darkness. They are the light. They have to be.
If I live my life protecting myself from the light, then I never see the brilliance. If I always worry about being hurt and losing what I love, then I have already lost it. I will miss out on meeting the colorful people that will fill my heart with joy. I will never hear their stories that both break my heart and mend it all at the same time. If I live my life excluding the difficult things we hear, I also don't hear the words that will heal my heart, or inspire me to inspire others.
It can't work both ways. We can't both live in darkness and shine light at the same time. Once again, I choose the light and a puppy who for now, is bright white and full of life. Life that we are enjoying regardless of what tomorrow may bring.
--K
Here is the kicker. I also know that he will break our hearts one day. That little girl who is smiling so wide in the picture above, will grieve and her cheeks will be streaked with tears that I cannot stop. The joy that they have for him now, will lead to sadness. There is no way to avoid this. As my husband pointed out recently, "All relationships will end one day."
I guess there was one way we could have sheltered our children from such sadness.We could have totally avoided the whole situation. We could have remained in the pet less population that many families choose. It is easier that way. If we don't love, we don't hurt. But then again, are we really living? Are we experiencing the life we are gifted with, or merely existing? Are we preparing our children for life?
In recent days, the feeling of loss has crept in to my everyday life. From events of the world, to events in our family, my heart has hurt. My chest has felt heavy and I have had days that tears have streaked my face. My once happy smile has been absent. My patience has been tested and my temper has flared.
My thoughts have been swimming in loss. The loss of ones so young and in the prime of their lives. The loss of innocent people cheering on their loved ones as they crossed a finish line. The loss of limbs and dreams. The loss of battles fought long and hard. Battles that were unfairly handed them and not to others.
I have wanted to seek out a cave. I have wanted to roll the rock closed and just be alone. I want to see nothing. I don't want the light to filter in because its images are too overwhelming. I don't want to hear anymore because the sounds are too deafening. I think of other cave dwellers. For I am not alone. There are many reasons we want to retreat.
For some, they have seen such beauty and brilliance, and then it was snatched away. The beauty around them was impressive, and fantastic. It was full of life and vitality. But now that it is gone it is too painful to look at anything. For nothing will replace that loss. For them the cave is a safe place. For them, they cannot and will not allow themselves the pain again of looking at the light. Their heart will remain guarded and under permanent lock and key.
And then I think about life outside that cave. The life we live. The life that has both beauty and brutality. The "brutiful" life my friend, Glennon, writes so poetically about. This is the life that both pulls and pushes us along when we feel we cannot go on anymore. This is the life that my children live in and will grow up in. I cannot keep them from loving and losing any more than I can stop the air from blowing. It is part of their journey. It is part of my journey. It is how we grow and learn to give. To give of things and more importantly of ourselves.
As a parent, I have found that loving my children is the easiest and scariest thing I have ever done. I am not saying that parenting is easy. Please hear me clearly. For the love of GOD, it is the hardest thing I have ever done! But loving them and truly getting to know each of them for the sacred creation of God that they are, is easy. But from the moment I brought them into this world, knowing that they could be gone from my world is the scariest thing to live with each day.
But do I crawl into the cave because it could happen? Did I choose not to be a parent because the prospect of the pain of loss was too much? No. The daily brilliance far outweighs the possibility of the pain. The laughter and smiles take away the fear of the unknown. Experiencing their love and lives overshadows the what ifs. It is more powerful than the darkness. They are the light. They have to be.
If I live my life protecting myself from the light, then I never see the brilliance. If I always worry about being hurt and losing what I love, then I have already lost it. I will miss out on meeting the colorful people that will fill my heart with joy. I will never hear their stories that both break my heart and mend it all at the same time. If I live my life excluding the difficult things we hear, I also don't hear the words that will heal my heart, or inspire me to inspire others.
It can't work both ways. We can't both live in darkness and shine light at the same time. Once again, I choose the light and a puppy who for now, is bright white and full of life. Life that we are enjoying regardless of what tomorrow may bring.
--K
Well said, Kristen. Having a close relative who is a cave dweller provides a constant reminder of the isolation and loneliness lifestyle brings. Safety does not equate with happiness. Sadly her decisions also negatively impact those around her.
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