Most days I am hanging on by two threads. I’d be lying to you if I said I was hanging by one, but I would also be lying if I made you believe I was harnessed with a rope and climbing shoes, ready to tackle the rough terrain of motherhood ahead. But alas, here I am suspended above the abyss by two threads. Two. I do think that they are possibly thick, and if I am lucky, made out of some super strength unbreakable nylon material… Yes, we will go with this scenario for my threads, thin and few but very mighty.
I used to hate silence. I did. I would turn the TV on in the mornings so that I didn’t have to hear my own thoughts, and now, now I covet the rare drops of the sweet nectar I call ‘silence’. I relish in it, I savor it, soaking up every last drop when I grasp a moment or two to myself. When I hear myself think, I say, “Oh, there you are Heather, you haven’t abandoned me like I assumed… I am still alive within this body of mine, thinking and creating… I just have to unearth you from the bazillion to-do’s floating around my foggy brain.” And when I find one of those moments to meet with myself, alone, with those sweet delicious thoughts that melt away like fresh cotton candy on my wetted tongue, it reminds me of my heart’s own beat and the intake of my lungs, deep and long, giving life to the dusty individual I sometimes become.
I remember in kindergarten we would meet in the back of the classroom for circle time. Sitting with our legs criss crossed on the floor, we would watch our teacher, we would sing her songs, we would learn her lessons.
She once planted seeds for us.
Two of them.
In one pot she put the seed in the dirt, covered it up, sprinkled it with water and placed it in the windowsill to soak up the sunlight that beamed through in the late afternoons. With the other seed, she did the same. She planted it in fresh dirt, covered it up, sprinkled it with water and placed it in a closet, away from any light. Weeks later she pulled the plants out to show us the results of our inaugural experiment. The seed left to bask in the light of the sun was deep with color, it’s leaves were large and lush, and it stood confident and tall. We were proud of that little seedling, all healthy and all. Then we came to the one hidden in darkness, void of light. The seed had grown, but it’s color was pale and it’s stem limber and week. It crouched out of the pot, barely lifting it’s thin leaves above the rim.
“What is the difference between our two plants?” she would ask.
Of course we would all come to the conclusion that life needed light. Without the light of the sun the plant could not grow to it’s full potential. Both seedlings sprouted, both grew tall and made their own leaves, spending their little plant lives’ going through the same struggles, but when we make room for the light to shine in daily, it makes a better version of what the plant was supposed to become.
Why do we hide ourselves away in the darkness? Why do we retreat, and close doors and pull curtains, shunning the very light that gives us life?! We are all going through the same struggles, nothing is new under the sun, but yet we retreat to the darkness to find comfort when in the light is where life lives.
I am constantly pulling myself back into the light. Daily I must shine truth on my path, I must resign to the warmth that HE alone gives, and the nourishment that satisfies down to my core. I must pull off those thing that are blocking the light from my view setting them aside, and journey to become less important so that I may become more valuable.
Let us not be ashamed to admit we have hidden in the corner of the closet. Whether it be work, motherhood, bills, or tragedy that has placed us there, it is our choice to open the doors and step out.