An Interrupted Dawn
A fresh sadness has cast its cold shadow over me. It caught me by surprise but not because I’m unaccustomed to flickering light. I’m too old to be unaccustomed to such common things. I’m not afraid. Just surprised. Surprised because I thought it was morning.
2020 was such a dark year. Like you, no doubt, the global darkness of the pandemic fell like a lead blanket over a personal season that would also throw a wool shawl over my man & me. Our 2 kids did just what they we’re supposed to do. They grew up. To our great fortune, we still
got to live a lot of family life. The halls of our house rang a constant ruckus. Grandchildren running, skating, cartwheeling, dancing, leaping, hiphopping, dog-ball-throwing, nerf gun launching. Adults eating, discussing, debating, arguing, discoursing and opining as Moores do.
Then the Lord moved one. Then the others. Moved them far away. I blame it entirely on the Lord because that’s how I can accept and embrace it as good. I know it was him because even I can look at it—at what he’s orchestrated for my people—& nod & say, Amen. So be it. It is well.
What he’d given Keith & me in having both our girls & their loves all these years was a gift, not a right. Amen. So be it. It is well. I hesitate to write this part because my girls will see it & I know they will hate it because they love their mother. So I’ll say it quickly like