A friend recently walked through the village of Cold Spring, NY. It is An amazingly, charming little Hudson River town with little shops and restaurants on a hill and glimpses of the river below. Across the water Storm King Mountain rises above as part of the Hudson Highlands, graceful and strong. A pedestrian short-cut tunnels under some train tracks if you'd like to stroll all the way down to the river. And why wouldn't you? It is healing to stand beside Hudson. At least, for me it is. A small waterfront allows you to walk out onto the river. At the railings edge it is only you, the river and Storm King, the humbling but peaceful giant sitting across the river, closing you in, reeling in the sun behind. We each have places like this, restorative places. Further down the river, peaking out among the hills is the place where I was born. A nearby church is where I was married. It too, overlooks the river and invites a perfect sanctuary, hidden, unassuming and quiet, a relatively unknown historic site.
The view from the church where we were married.Anyway, I totally diverge...
In a shop window, in Cold Spring, my friend saw a photograph of a house. She recognized it. I had stopped the car to show it to her when I was in New York recently. It was one of those things that compelled you to gawk and then share with others. This house apparently caught the eye of an artist, a photographer, and there it was in the window of a store. The title was "Christmas Eve". The framed photo was of what had been, a beautiful house.
It is a tradition in Austria to put real candles on a Christmas tree. This family was from Austria. They lit candles and put them on their tree. It was Christmas Eve and their house burned almost to the ground. Thank goodness that is the end of the story. No one was injured. So far, I hear, they plan to rebuild (oh for the simple things in the world, simple replaceable things).
It is a unsettling feeling to look at a house and relate to it. To see an inanimate object and feel as though you understand how it must feel. To see a burned out-house that once stood beautiful and new and think, "there is me". The singed, jagged edges of the walls. The roof completely missing. The raw exposure.
So there. Another image of what this looks and feels like (to be here). For what its worth. Yet another way to explain why it will be a while. There is a lot of rebuilding required... and with my energy level where it is... this house is going to sit here, as is, for a while.
Your house is not supposed to burn down on Christmas Eve.
Your child is not supposed to die (and without warning).
Go ahead. Make plans in life. Get comfortable for a moment. Think you are in control. I dare you.
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Another day, another question, inspired by this sad story of a house...
Is it the utmost act of faith to put candles on a Christmas tree? For me to Trust the world again, feels like I'd be lighting candles on a Christmas tree. In the same house where I rebuilt my house after it burned down...after I put candles on the Christmas tree. I don't know if I can handle that again. Because in my heart, I don't have a lot of Trust that it won't just burn right down again.
Trust. Somehow that goes with Faith. Right? But, right now, I'm having to relearn the definition of those words. They are as a new language to me now.
At what point do you throw in the towel? At what point do you to you listen to your sanity begging for mercy?
Sanity?
I need a dictionary.
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