It’s been a hard year. We’ve watched people we love struggle valiantly, fearfully, against illness. We’ve stood by helplessly, unable to pull them from the brink. We’ve watched their courage. We’ve watched their grace. We’ve watched.
It’s been a hard year.
And yet. And yet I remind myself every day of my blessings. I get to watch my children laugh. I get to help my daughter dress for school each day. In another part of the world, two hundred girls may never go to school again. They may never again hug their parents. They may never know peace. Today, I get to hold my daughter tight, protecting her from the cruel world, if only for one fleeting moment of embrace.
I get to race around my kitchen, scrambling to keep up with my growing son’s appetite. I get to watch him grow bigger and stronger with each passing day. I get to watch him transform from a curious baby into a joyful little boy, seemingly overnight. I get to be the center of his world, if only for a little while longer.
I think about my blessings every day, because gratitude defends me from the darkness. I try to remember the teachings of Buddhism. Accept. Let go. Tell me it’s going to be OK, I want to shout to someone, anyone. But the truth is, it may not be OK. But it will be. Wherever the road ahead leads, it must be traveled, and with as much peace and strength as I can muster.
And as I travel through the darkness, my blessings light the way, illuminating my path like beckoning flames, reminding me that however difficult the road, I do not walk it alone.
I am blessed.