I live alone with my preschooler in an off-grid cabin on a remote island off the coast of British Columbia.
"Don't wish me happiness I don't expect to be happy all the time....It's gotten beyond that somehow. Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor. I will need them all." Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Sunday, 31 January 2016
I fell asleep to silence and in the morning there was a storm. The trees were clanging like escaped church bells. We followed our daily routine and went downstairs. I lit a candle and then I made a fire in the wood stove. As I waited for the fire to build itself up so that I could add some larger blocks I poured myself some mostly hot water left in an insulated thermos into my mug. Outside the storm raged and inside there was another. My daughter was having a tantrum. She was lying on the floor kicking. I have written much about the beauty of parenting and about the fatigue but I haven't written about this. Tantrums it seems are as common to young children as winds are to a coastal winter. The room suddenly filled with orange light. I scooped up the toddler with the tear stained cheeks and we rushed outside the door to watch orange clouds like goldfish in a pond. I looked at the little face and saw a smile. No tantrum and no storm can last forever. "...weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5
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