Holding lightly to my blessings

Elegies

Il aura trop tenu
(Dans le fond de sa paume
En face de la mer)

Du sable que le vent
Y prenait grain par grain -

Celui que tient la peur
De devenir nuage.

-- Guillevic

This poem roughly translates as, "He probably held on too tightly (in the palm of his hand, facing the sea) to the sand the wind was taking grain by grain - he who was gripped by the fear of becoming mist." I found it once when I was a teenager and never forgot it, and it has never seemed so fitting as right now. What I grasp slips through my fingers. I am afraid to let go, most afraid of all that nothing I do matters. So I fight.

But right now, I'm letting go. What will be will be, and will be used for the good. My defiance, my fight, is in releasing my control and admitting that I trust that God has not finished blessing us and that His Love cannot turn into a curse.

This life, this baby, is not mine. Somehow, somehow, there is a plan. And it is not mine to stress about. No promises not to whine about it again tomorrow though. ;)