I woke this morning still searching, still praying, still pondering how this day is going to go. And I did a little reading online and found the following blog:
I am going to add it to my list of favorites along the side.
It drove home how much I relate.
That I am exactly where I am supposed to be right now. And if I wasn't supposed to be here, I wouldn't be. Period.
Is this going to be hard? Yes.
Do I need to spin myself into this panic over that fact? No.
I have faced much harder than this. And look. Look at me. Here I am. Still alive. Still whole. Still singing. I have come out other side. I have survived the valley of the shadow of death. Who am I to be so afraid to peer back into its borders and recognize I am called to return, to help others through it? What kind of ego does it take to make my own fear this important, this huge? A big one. One that has no place here. If there is one thing I am realizing over and over and over again through this journey, it is that my requirement for this life is to be small. To step back. To hold up. To support. It makes me joyful inside. And it is time I started trusting what I have learned so far to date and to stop dreading and doubting...doubting life...myself....my purpose...my strength.
My head is up and I am returning to a place where a massive victory happened. Yes, my son died there. And here I am. Going back to that place. Facing it head on. Because I am bigger than cancer. I am bigger than death. I am small beneath the archaic wonders that cycle through this world, but in accepting and embracing my smallness, I slip beneath the radar and arrive squarely at the side of those who need me most. My life has more meaning than I ever imagined it might. It is time for more lessons and I am ready in spite of my trembling.
This is a big day. A good day.