It’s early. The sprinklers hit the outside of the house every few seconds, reminding me of their need for adjustment.

The air conditioner clicks on at this very moment, as if knowing full well the coffee is about to heat my insides into a hot flash. She comes on to save the day from needless perspiration.

I am content.

This has not been the case for the first twenty or so days of this month. Restless. Fearful I can’t move forward with the sale of our home, as if I will lose him all over again, which is silly since he is already gone.

I can’t go on like this.

I am missing life.

Real life in the here and now.

I read these words from a little girl in a newsletter, and my spirit smiles at the simplicity of it all (from Sarah Bessey’s post), “Mom, if you wish you were somewhere else or if you are being miserable, then you miss where you are right now and you miss the good things, I think.”

Yes, I am lost in sadness, and I am missing the sweetness.

This comforts me.

Yesterday desperation caused me to research grief on Google to see if I’m over the edge. Apparently I am not. Keep mulling through, Josie.  Don’t try to escape it.

It frustrates me. It scares me how hopeless I feel, its grip trying to hold me under until all life is lost.

Today though, as I ponder the resurrection of Jesus, something so incomprehensible for my finite mind to grasp, I feel a shift occur in my thought process.

Like new life springing forth from the rubble within.

I can have more than one dream home.

Yes, our hands worked beauty there. Yes, our love was stronger than ever there.

His destiny was secured there, I am sure of it.

We loved hard there. We took hold of the smallest of pleasures in the midst of such hardship—there.

Sometimes dreams play out differently than we hope.

But this life can still be a dream.

I’ve always been a dreamer. And I want to dream again of possibilities–

Places to travel, words to pen, hope to tap into.

I think of resurrection. His life came to life, so we may have life.

Yes, for eternity.

And in the here and now.

…

Our tree decides to display one last hurrah for me to smile on, as if saying, “Now go forth and find beauty again Josie.”