I spent this Easter feeling grateful, which was nice because for the past few days I’ve been feeling mostly overwhelmed. Packing our house has left it in shambles, with everything in the wrong place, but a month ago this is a problem I would have given my right arm to have. We actually sold our house– something even our least religious, most cynical friends have dubbed “an act of God”– and were able to move in to my in-laws’ beautiful home in the forest outside Harbor Springs. We live in two rooms on the lower level of their house and enjoy the serenity of life among trees while we commute to our house to finish packing. Meanwhile, A. gets unlimited quality time with his grandparents. “Overwhelmed” is, in this situation, a ridiculous feeling and when I catch myself in it, I have to remember how much perspective it’s possible to lose in one sitting.

Yesterday, on my birthday, the sky bloomed sunny then darkened with rain. When I was younger, I viewed rain with sadness and thought of it as a bad omen. As an adult, I know better. Nothing grows without rain. On my birthday this year, we received the first real rain of spring, a rain that will allow the earth to open up and receive the seeds we plant, in hope.

And this morning it was nice to go to church and hear people talk about hope. The church was flooded with lilies, and I thought about the morels I felt sure would be popping up because the dirt was damp enough to make them grow. Later we ate ham and asparagus and hot cross buns, with birthday cake for dessert. We watched A. grab fistfuls of pear and cram them into his smiling mouth. When I examine the miniscule moments of my life, one by one, I find very little room for anything but gratitude.


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