uncertain

Oxford defines it as:

“feeling doubt about something”

“not sure”

“likely to change, especially in a negative or unpleasant way.”

I think that sums it up pretty well.

Well, sums up today maybe.

Maybe even tomorrow.

But it does not sum up every tomorrow.

Because tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and all the days that will follow that, will start with the rising of the sun in the east and babies brought into this incredible and yet incredibly imperfect world through a ring of fire and hope and – I really hope – coffee brewed fresh for weary third-shift workers coming home to home and you and I – who see the sun rise or who do not – here to witness another rotation of the earth, and this…just this? Isn’t this remarkable?

This certainty? That the world will still spin and the sun will still rise and set and the moon will show her beautiful face in profile or straight on, and you and I will also rise and set, daily and at the dawn and sunset of our lives?

This is certain.

That we will breathe in and out and somehow, with all the uncertainty and fear and craziness that the world has become, and has always been, still breathe as long as there’s life left in us.

There’s a lot of life left in us. A lot we can still do. Even in uncertain times.

We can still make the coffee. Still watch the sun rise and set. Still assist the birth or do the birthing. Still send the thank-you card, the birthday card, the condolence card, the no-reason-at-all-except-to-say “I love you” card.

We can, and we will still watch the children play and fight and grow, as we also watch ourselves play and fight and grow.

We can and we will still do our best to do our best.

We can still care enough to care enough.

We can certainly still love well.

And move.

And speak.

And speak out.

I’m pretty certain.

~xo,

LuAnne