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Max Lucado tells a story about a village full of worriers, who have a collective freak out any time anything happens and are quick to rush to conclusions and judgement. There is also a poor man in the village who does not join in, but rather rebukes their foolishness again and again.
When the poor man's valuable horse goes missing, the villagers moan and groan, telling the man he is a fool for not selling the horse and living off the proceeds, but the man says merely, "All we know is that the horse is not in the barn." He reminds the villagers that we cannot judge a situation in the midst of it, as life comes in fragments.
Later, the horse returns unharmed and brings back many more horses with it. The villagers are quick to say what a great thing it is, that he now has all this wealth in these horses, but the man reminds them that they cannot say one way or the other; it is too soon to judge.
Much calamity befalls this man (and the village), and each time the villagers come to him to worry and commiserate, he calmly replies that "all we know is x." Sometimes the thing turns out well and sometimes not, but each time, the man remains calm in the face of the storm.
We have told this story in my mom's family for years, and it has become a kind of shorthand in times of distress: "All we know is that the horse is not in the barn." So I keep reminding myself of that when my fears and grief about my dad threaten to overwhelm me and carry me into the deep.
All we know is that the horse is not in the barn.
that's really a profound story. It is hard though, even, when all one knows is the horse is not in the barn (if that makes sense). praying.
ReplyDeleteI hear you J. That story is new to me, even if the concept is not. I'm in a life-stage where my parents have become very ill (and mercifully recovered, and they're only in their early 70s). I do not pretend to know your experience or feelings, but, as far as I am concerned, I have had too many opportunities to consider the parental cycle of life and death. But I imagine I will learn more of it in the full course of things. It is so scary, so sad, so tremendously heavy. Please know that I am sending prayers and positive thoughts and vibes of crafty escapism (to whatever extent creativity is feasible). And strength. Cuz who doesn't need strength in the face of fear. xoxo
ReplyDeleteMy parents are in their late 60s, so it feels too soon. The echo of my grandpa's death is there; he was just shy of 69 when he died of complications from blood cancer, and my mom was a few years younger than I am right now. My boys are around the age I was at the time, so it feels a bit cyclical, even though intellectually, I know that is rubbish talk.
DeleteI get up in the morning and I think: what am I going to sew today? I'm on a gift-quilt kick, so that is a useful mind-occupying project. I'm nearly to the end of the garment projects I set out for myself, and am starting to feel like my sewing season needs to come to a close, so it is probably all to the good in any case. Plenty of knitting to be had after the sewing machine has a rest! Thanks again for your kind notes--they really lift me up. :)
I applaud keeping your brain busy with things that you can influence! Make all the gifts and fun things for yourself. PS: I like to go hardcore on projects when I'm in a challenging space such as this one, but sometimes the brain doesn't want to play along. In those times, I find sock knitting is the best. All the stitchy goodness and, in the end, you can gift those puppies to a parent. xoxo
DeleteI tend to go hardcore on stuff as well, but I find socks to be pesky, mostly because I don't enjoy knitting small circumferences in the round. I've gotten used to the tiny 9" needles for sleeves and such, but haven't quite gotten around to socks. Perhaps that is next on my "I'll probably never enjoy making these" list! I seem to be crossing things off that list one by one this year. :) Thankfully, I have a number of projects on needles (including a time-sensitive gift project) so there is plenty to keep my hands busy. xoxo
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