I'm reminded of Dickens as I write. He possibly would be mortified.
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way — in short, the period was so far like the present period that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."
Unexpected thunder rumbles. I love a good thunderstorm. Opening my dining room window, I sit to enjoy a slight breeze and light rain.
The last two weeks were a perfect descriptive of the best of times, the worst of times. How can it be, wild stress, and beautiful peace and reprieve smack dab in the middle of chaos?
Two times in one week, after work dinner is rarity. I like to get home to Maggie Rose. And I'm tired. But that's exactly what happened recently, two dinners in town in one week, after work.
The Genius Farmer’s mom was in town. Sometime I will tell you about him. Genius Farmer he truly is. She presented me a gift-wrapped copy of his book, pictorial beauty, signed by both he and Gifted Photographer. I waited to unwrap the greatest of gifts (always books are the greatest gifts if ever there was a greatest gift) until after dinner. The beauty of God’s bounty fully captured in photography, grubby hands, smiling faces, well, I quietly accidentally wept.
“Are you okay?” Genius Farmer’s mother asks.
“No,” was my quiet, but emphatic reply, careful not to blubber.
“So beautiful, this is so beautiful and such a gift. There are still good people in the world.”
Kindness.
All the ugliness in the world will never trump kindness and love.
Grace.
We don't know hearts of others, true motivation for ugliness, or even if ugliness arrows hit their intended target or are wildly slung out of considerable frustration and anger over something unrelated, another time, another place.
Variables are infinite. I just know ugliness is needless.
Grace.
My grace tank hovers on empty lately. I'm quite capable of wildly slinging misplaced (as well as deadly accurate on target) arrows too, and almost always regret doing so. Where is balance? I don't believe balance lies in allowing falsities, nuanced and otherwise, to perpetuate. Battles must be chosen wisely. Strategically.
And so, the best of times, worst of times.
Epoch incredulity.
Witnessing antagonistic, ugly, darkness and then, thank God, the same day realizing generous noble wisdom and grace, beautiful gifts, and irreplaceable new friendship, good, my friends, far outweighs bad.
In the superlative degree of comparison only.
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