I awoke on March 3 to nineteen texts and a few missed calls wanting to know if I was safe. I didn’t know what they were talking about.
A powerful tornado had ripped through middle Tennessee overnight, creating major devastation and taking numerous lives. While this was happening, I was sleeping soundly, waking up to sunshine and blue skies. A perfect morning ... until I saw my phone.
I soon learned that my neighbors fifteen minutes south of me were surrounded with damaged or completely destroyed homes and businesses, as well as power outages. My neighbors as close as twenty minutes east of me saw the same.
Traffic was congested and roads were closed. Cleanup crews were working hard to help people recover what they could and literally, pick up the pieces. Utility crews were trying to restore power for thousands, many of whom had to wait a few days. It seemed surreal to know this was happening just up the road from me, yet not be experiencing any of it.
While handling many phone calls and texts to assure family that I was safe, I glanced outside my window and noticed the very first daffodil bloom in my yard. Of all days, this is the day it chose to bloom.
There’s a specific dogwood tree in my neighborhood that I notice on every walk. As far back as November, I observed tiny little buds already starting to form, carrying the promise of spring. Just the day before, I had looked at the bulbs and marveled at how big they were getting. As I took my walk the day of the tornado, I saw that numerous buds all over the tree had suddenly opened up.
On a day of such destruction and devastation for some, there were also beautiful blooming flowers.
With each passing year, I’m more aware that the world is not black-and-white. It’s not either-or, but rather both-and-also.
More examples...
A few days ago, I shared some zoomed-in sections of a painting on Facebook (see photos below). Someone described how those images reminded her of her grief over the recent loss of her mother. She said they were beautiful and yet heartbreaking at the same time. Both. And. Also.
My world expands when I can hold two extremes at the same time, when I can experience devastation and still see beauty. The world is too painful in times of challenge if we can’t also be aware of the ever-present gifts.
I’ll never forget a therapist telling me to be careful not to get too high or too low. I understood not wanting to let myself get too low, but I had no idea what was wrong with getting too high?
Without balance, we are unstable in either direction. The farther we go from center, up or down, the more distance we have to travel to get back into balance. The journey there and back can be uncomfortable.
As the years go by, however, my focus is less on only staying sheltered in the middle, because that’s not always possible when outside circumstances arise. I’m working more on being able to hold both states of being, dark and light, black and white. To acknowledge both places and still be grounded. To be able to feel grief one minute and joy the next. Or maybe both simultaneously, as the person who commented on my art.
Walking through the neighborhood the day the tornado hit, I soaked up the sun and noticed and appreciated all the new blooms promising spring. But all of the suffering just up the road weighed heavy on my heart. I felt guilty because my day was not like my neighbors'.
How could two realities be so different separated by a mere fifteen minutes?
What does it all mean?
I guess we take turns. We may have a good season while others are struggling to make it. And then the tables turn. They always do.
We must grow in our ability to accept that nothing lasts forever, neither the good nor the challenges, and trust that hard situations, while they may be difficult to endure, will also simultaneously bring unexpected gifts if we keep our eyes open.
Too many times, some of the best things have come from some of the worst things. We can all think of examples where that has been true.
Recently our pastor shared some of the back story of why Horatio Spafford wrote the famous song, It Is Well With My Soul. A very successful lawyer and real estate investor, he lost everything in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, just months after losing his four year old son to illness.
Not long after, Spafford put his wife and four daughters on a ship headed overseas, having to stay behind at the last minute for business reasons. He had plans to join them as soon as he could. Soon Spafford received a telegraph. “Survived alone…” His wife had made it, but the ship sank and he lost his four daughters.
Stafford quickly made arrangements to board a ship to join his grieving wife. The captain alerted him as they were passing the spot where their ship was believed to have gone down. This is where he wrote the song that has been inspiring people ever since.
Of course Stafford was devastated. He had lost everything, all five children and his fortune. But his story didn’t end there, because he was also able to find acceptance from a deep well of trust. I want that for us all. Research the full story. It’s tragic … and beautiful.
Both. And. Also.
To my neighbors who are suffering from the effects of this tornado, I am praying for you. To others who are walking a difficult path, I’m extending hope and a reminder that this too shall pass. Gifts are waiting to be discovered even now (especially now).
To those enjoying a joyful or peaceful season, I’m urging you to appreciate every second of it while it lasts, and say thanks for the blessings you are enjoying.
I challenge all of us to develop the ability to be so grounded in our hope, faith and trust that external circumstances can’t narrow our vision. Let's stay open to the co-existence of beauty and new birth, or re-birth, no matter how bleak things may look.
(painting photos below)
PS
I wrote these thoughts on March 3, 2020. It just so happens the daily meditation in Finding the Gift for March 9, entitled Anchor the Middle, shares more on this topic.
