I woke up recently to the sound of what seemed like hundreds of birds chirping. Lovebug, my sweet cat, was still snuggled, undisturbed by the unease I felt. I looked out my bedroom window and there he was — a fat robin going about his normal hunt for worms. Moments later the landscapers arrived, pots of coloured pansies ready for planting around the grounds. Daffodils had appeared out of nowhere overnight. A few crocuses and hyacinths peeked out shyly. It is grey and chilly but, without a doubt, spring is on its way here in the United States!
How is it possible, I asked myself? This normal change of seasons, so beautiful and an ancient routine. How can it be, when the world seems to have gone mad? When every day a new crisis arrives or intensifies and ugliness is the new season that makes its arrival?
That is the question I find myself asking. Do I have the right to feel cosy and safe, blessed by the appearance of flowers and birds, the sun gently warming the air with the aroma of freshness, while my cat naps unaware of the dangers and horrors that lurk everywhere? How can I write about the magic of spring when everything around me is dreadful, frightening and sad?
I feel guilty and useless. And yet, there they are. The life affirming, spectacular everyday events that go on no matter what.
I think this is what gives me faith. Or at least helps me to understand the concept and embrace it.
Somehow, peace, kindness and beauty can coexist with war, cruelty, and destruction. When things look impossibly bleak, too hard to even comprehend, God or the Universe or whatever gives you hope — gives you pansies, daffodils and a robin.
So today, I will make my favourite coffee, toast a slice of homemade raisin walnut bread, fill the bird feeders, brush Lovebug, do my chores, and try to find some way to live with this Paradox Of Life.
I will have faith.