Who amongst us does not know more now than we did ten, thirty or fifty years ago…not just about what is right and what is wrong, but who we are and the nature of the choices that are ours to make?
We have been informed by dreams and nightmares as well as by unearned grace. There has been inspiration in the words of others who came before lighting the path to inner wisdom. Too, there are elders who are still with us, walking just a step ahead with dignity and grace, even if on shuffling feet.
Somehow, we established our own pace, all judgments about having skipped ahead or fallen behind, proving to be temporary. Crisis by crisis, we replaced false and untrue bits of ourselves with that for which we always sought: not the simple joy to which the child thought she was entitled, but joy, nevertheless.
Do I dare call this embrace of my own complexity “joy”? Yes, this is joy—joy born of surrender and acceptance, paradoxically co-existing in one heart with hope, aspiration and pain. This paradox defies the rational and forces me open-eyed into faith. At once awe-full and awe-some, even the finding, losing and recovery of faith is part and parcel to the joy I can now claim as my own.
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