"Who, but you, would see beauty in barbed wire!" my mom exclaimed upon seeing this picture.
It depends on the day. Some days it just looks like barbed wire on a rotting post.
Friday night, generations of my immediate and extended family gathered at the farm that claims our common beginning and tried to fit years of memories, stories, laughter, and sorrow into a few hours.
Saturday morning, nearly two years to the day from my grandfather's death, that same family found its way into his same church, even the same pews, to remember his sister.
"How was your weekend?" my friends asked. "Was it good?"
Well . . .
It was brutal and beautiful, stained with old memories and fresh tears, but painted with the love, friendship, and shared histories known only within a family. Our renewed heartbreak stood alongside the still-raw wounds of our cousins. It was exhausting and painful to be in the same places for the same reasons.
Maybe some of this pain never leaves; I don't know. I do know I don't want to forget, so in a way I welcome the scars.
Scars are both a reminder of pain and proof of healing, so yes, I welcome the scars.
And I search for the healing.
My quest for healing happiness, for a dam to staunch Saturday's flow of pain, took me quite literally to the top of the hill.
Well, to be perfectly literal, my Jeep took me to the top of the hill and my camera rode shotgun.
The top of the hill didn't disappoint. As usual, I found what I needed--peace and quiet, peace of mind, and peace in my soul. At the top of the hill, Grandpa's soft chuckle still carries on the breeze and I still see him bend to meticulously separate a mushroom from the ground with the blade of his Old Timer pocket knife. At the top of the hill I can see for miles and the world is crystal clear.
Because Grandpa would have patiently indulged my desire to look just a little more, walk around just one more bend, maybe stay a few minutes longer, I did just that.
And there, at the top of a hill so special it has a name, I found what I needed. A reminder that what we see so clearly today, what causes us terrible pain today, is only part of our picture.
Tension pulls us back, holding us taut, vibrant beauty lures us forward, and a lethal barb stands sharply in focus.
I'll take the scars the barb leaves behind, but I choose the beauty.
