We have a river in our back yard. It wasn't there before the spring thaw. The change has been most wonderful for the children. In their exuberant exploration they have enlisted the help of the canoe and been to new lands, discovered many wonders of nature and laws of physics, and they have grown.
I don't like the river. Its muddy and messy. Its full of grass clippings and burrs, and living organisms. Its wet and I only have one vent with which to dry boots. Did I mention its wet? Snow pants are a very poor substitute for waders. We don't own waders. I am resistant to change.
I can't ever recall a time when I leapt with joy at the sound of the faint rumblings of change on the horizon. I have always been able to feel it coming. Perhaps it is a blessing to allow me to prepare for the coming discomfort and resistance. Perhaps it is karma coming to call. Perhaps it is life offering me an opportunity. A possibility of better things, however far off in the distance they may be.
When you stretch a rubber band wide enough and long enough, it does increase in size, ever so slightly. It seems that this is the way of change and growth most often. The horrific trial that brings your world tumbling down, only to return almost back to what you were after the dust settles. The ebb and flow of life and stretching does bring us closer to the best end result, but it takes a while. Most often a long while.
The rushing river is magnificent and deceiving in its instant transformation of landscape and life.
I don't like change, but as I grow in spirit and maturity I am learning to approach it differently and allow the stretching. Oh, but I do long for the days of almost back to normal predictability and comfort. I suppose one does not grow that way.
For now, I dry the boots, and snow pants, coats, gloves, hats, and noses. I make warm soup and listen to tales of wonder. For now, I watch and hopefully I learn.