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A thread.
A thin thread.
I picture it hanging from a large object above me. That object represents my ability to cope on a day-to-day basis with what stares at me, challenges me, and places its grip around me.
The thread glistens in the light that hides behind the scenes as my fingers, white tipped with pain, squeeze it in efforts to support the weight of our journey.
I look up at the thread each time SMA slaps us in the face and notice the fibers tearing away as I spin slowly around in my world. I dare not look down.
The emotions that arise without warning are intensifying. I have learned throughout my life, however, how I can manage intense feelings. I know that when I step out of my house and into the world that I must place the emotions aside and focus on the day. When I greet my students and we begin our day together I take myself to a place that allows me to do my job and teach them to the best of my ability. I know that as I go through the hours of the day, interacting with people, that I must not burden them with my deepest emotions.
Arriving home, knowing that my dear, sweet wife has been spending the day immersed in SMA alongside the challenges that go along with raising three children under five years of age, I walk into a world that is riddled with challenges.
The thread grows thinner.
I would have guessed that the thread would have given way by now. It sustains, however. As I spin and grapple, the thread sustains me.
To what do I owe this grace? To what do I owe this allowance of sustaining ability?
Love.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
I love my wife. I love my children. I love my work.
Lindsay and I adopted a line from the Beatles as we were courting each other.
We lived by it then,
we cling to it now...
"All You Need is Love" ~The Beatles
