Well, it has begun. The construction of the new elementary school—the one I thought that could cast a huge shadow on my husband, Jerry’s, and my hopes—is now rumbling forward in full tilt. Daily from sunup to sunset, the big-boy toys push dirt from one side of the landscape to the other, making a hill one day, only to dig away at it the next. And yet, as I witness what once was a sweet-scented hayfield now being compressed into the foundation of what will be, I marvel at the lovely precision of change. And I am thankful for how the Lord has tenderly guided Jerry and me toward it. And now through it.
None of us really like change and don’t often embrace it with arms wide-open, but for those of us who have lived long enough, we can attest that it is always at the door, ready to step in. If it is insignificant—like my beautiful vista being run over by a school—it can make you wince, wishing for what was, but when it matters—like grave illness or the loss of a loved one—the shattering of your heart feels as if it will crush you, ushering in burdens of isolation and loneliness.
