Winter Winds

I was on a crying jag all weekend. I had to stop going online because the pictures of the earthquake and tsunami in Japan were shredding me. I didn't even watch any of the video because the pictures and stories were more than enough. I got mad at myself for shying away from it. For going back to my everyday things. For feeling in any way sorry for myself.

But, see, the sorry-for-myself soup I had brewing was part of the reason I was so emotional about the Japan disaster.

I kept thinking about all the moms screaming for their children. All the new orphans, widows, grievers. The desperation. The incredible weight of collective heartbreak. Thousands of people who will mourn their parents and loved ones. But with no homes to go to, no photos left to collect. No little tokens of smiling memories. All washed to sea.

I cried for them in church on Sunday as I traced the silver charms on mom's old charm bracelet with my fingers. An itty bitty high school graduation pennant. An engraved birthday charm from her 18th birthday. A charm from several of the states she vacationed with dad. Tiny little sewing scissors, a cable car that spun on a disk. And, the newest charm, a cheeky little Tinker Bell that she bought on our last family vacation to Disney World.

Mom's birthday almost slipped my mind this year. I had thought about it a few weeks ago, and remembered it again as I reminded myself to be sure to call my sister and brother on their birthdays this week. But I hadn't thought about what I wanted to do to celebrate it, and I hadn't mentioned it to Hubs. So, on Saturday night when we sat down to watch a DVD and he asked what I wanted to watch, I rummaged around in the DVD bin and lit up when I saw "The Librarian" - one of mom's favorite silly made-for-TV movies. I held it up, with a smile on my face, and announced that we would watch The Librarian in honor of mom's birthday. Hubs was happy to oblige. He and mom would have loved to watch movies together. They both love silly B-movies and violent, brainless movies. I tried to imagine the two of us on the couch together at mom's house, watching The Librarian with her while she sat in her loungy chair.

So we watched the movie, and Hubs asked if there was anything special I would like to do on Sunday to celebrate mom's birthday. I couldn't think of anything, so I just said "eat Mexican food".

I woke up on Sunday and waddled bleary-eyed to the kitchen to get some water, and noticed a shock of white in the living room window sill. The paperwhite bulbs I bought last month had bloomed into bright-white star shaped flowers. And I started crying, thanking God for that sneaky little gift. And sad with missing my dear mom, who I would call every spring to tell her I had seen the first crocus or snowdrop push up from the dingy dirt. If she saw one first, she would call me. That was the deal. We'd often talk about various flowers "getting close" or "looking promising" as we scanned every flowerbed in town like eagle eyed scouts for signs of spring.

And so I saw the first bloom of spring on Sunday, even if it was in a container in my apartment. A beautiful, salty-faced reminder that He is making all things new. For me, for the world, for everyone who mourns and cries out in pain and sadness. Hope. In a tiny white blossom.