Leah Perrault

Staying the course is an ironic metaphor for an asthmatic whose longest race ever was 3,000 metres.

Beauty surprised me last week when I walked out to the car with a small hand in mine: “Mommy, the road is sparkling!” 

Resistance is an old friend of mine. She knows the arc of my back and places a comforting hand on my shoulder to let me know I am not alone. But three times in the same week, I heard familiar words from Deuteronomy: “See, I have set before you life and prosperity, death and adversity. Choose life.” 

I have been thinking a lot over the last couple of years about how God comes to us. In tragedy and grief, in deep joy and hope, in confusion and in waiting. In all these places, I am deeply convinced that He comes. Still, I often struggle to recognize Him.

I got to spend two beautiful evenings with my Grandma in the week before she died in October. While I held her hand and listened to her stories, and then to her breathing when she couldn’t speak anymore, I was flooded with memories. 

For more than 800 days, the Earth has been spinning its way around the sun, shining in spite of my sister’s death, but I struggled to see it. The sun and moon came and went, and I struggled to feel anything other than the sting of injustice at a world without her. 

“Overdrawn,” I thought, as I drove out of the city. “I feel like my whole life is overdrawn.” 

Weather was at the front of my minds as I headed out to the lake this summer with four kids in tow while my husband was away working. 

Being here is so much harder than it seems. 

Curiosity is not my first response. The little voice is so imploring: “Is there just one more packet of seeds in this drawer, Mommy? I just need to plant one more packet of seeds.” I am making dinner, on a timeline, and the combination of little hands in the junk drawer and the garden boxes raises my blood pressure. I just want to finish cooking. Who has time for curiosity?