“It’s okay.”
These two astonishing words came to me yesterday as I watched four of my five kids (between the ages of 20-25) bake and decorate Christmas cookies. They were busily working in the kitchen while discussing when they would be at their Dad’s place for Christmas and when they would be at mine.
I was struck by how content they seemed, happy even, and that is when it hit me-
It’s okay.
I could never have imagined the possibility of “okay” two years ago. “Okay” certainly seemed like a long lost hope three months after that when I was diagnosed with breast cancer (the day after signing divorce papers.)
Between you and me, I never thought I would see “okay” again. I thought that, perhaps, I had reached the agonizing terminus of a painful road. Dark and treacherous. A tragic dead end. (No pun intended.) But, here I am, one year and nine months after divorce and cancer diagnosis and, somehow, we all made it. The stuff of miracles, I tell you.
The house is quiet as I write this. The only kid at home is curled up in her favorite spot near the Christmas tree with a new book. An empty cup of tea is at my elbow, a new seed catalog, as thick as the Sears and Roebuck toy catalog I loved as a kid, is at my feet. From its open pages, bright marigolds in orange and yellow smile up at me. It is a stark contrast to the remnants of my garden, framed by the window in front of me where last summer’s bounty now lies desiccated, patiently waiting for me to clean it up and prepare it for next year’s growing season.
Behind me, bits of colorful icing still cling to the kitchen table, left over from yesterday’s festivities. Beyond that, is a kitchen adorned with early 1990’s oak cabinetry, topped with granite that I once heard a kitchen designer describe as the “rotten meat” look.
Yikes.
The door on the 16-year old oven, which has cooked countless meals for my family, will no longer stay closed. I know its days are numbered, but I can’t afford to replace it so I am stuck with just praying over it every time I use it.
The window screen has holes in it. The paint on the walls is chipped here and there. Someone left a football atop a patio table that has seen better days.
It is all a bit of a mess, actually.
But we are okay. Miraculously, mercifully, astoundingly okay. And gratitude for that takes my breath away.
This, to me, is the wonder of this season- God came to us, was wrapped in rags and nestled into a manger filled with hay, and the weary world rejoiced. We, truly, were walking in darkness, and when Mary’s Baby Boy took His first breath, light dawned for us.
It is all about restoration, you see. It is about the moments in our life in which all hope has been extinguished. Snuffed out.
That is the gift of Jesus, the Wonderful Counselor.
The Everlasting Father.
The Prince of Peace.
The Great Restorer. The Light Giver.
Oh, come let us adore Him…