Warm Neighbors and a World on Fire

We don’t get to choose which moments shape us, only that they will.

There’s an election coming up.

But there are also Pumpkin Spice Lattes to be tasted.

There are wars abroad and so much strain here at home.

Leaves are turning red and falling effortlessly to the ground in the gentle breeze. Ornamental grasses drying out, and marigolds offering up their final few golden blooms.

There is dissension, disillusionment, and disappointment all around.

There are assassination attempts and food drives, all on the same day.

Cinnamon-spiced cookies are being baked and cider is being pressed.

There are families visiting apple orchards in flannel, sweaty by their departure, because while we try to will it into fall, it is still, simply- too hot.

There are people dying, gun violence, and lies and misleading. There is the offering of what they think will win us over. There are half-truths, full deception, and salacious inflation in headlines.

But there are also friendly neighbors who send a text thanking us for helping them move their washer and dryer, and reminding us that if we “need anything at all,” they’re “right next door.”

There is a mother and her adult son who walk nightly in our neighborhood, gabbing like best friends up and down the streets.

There are texts from our friends saying they miss us love us or are thinking of us.

There are perfectly toasted bagels and the coffee that gets cold.

There is hurt, pain, and disappointment, and there is hope and healing, and beauty.

The cruelest joke and greatest gift is that all things are temporary in this life.

I bet you thought I’d say, “All of these are happening, it just depends on which ones you focus on.” But I won’t say that, because we don’t get to choose. And what a glorious thing that is.

We don’t get to choose when life presents grief or joy. When our world feels too heavy or perfectly light. We don’t get to choose which moments shape us, only that they will.

We don’t get to cling to the sweetness or avoid the sorrow, because both are offered in the same hand.

Breathe through it all. Love through it all. Let it break you open, skin your knees, expose your bones. Let it rebuild you into something—someone—bigger, more love-filled, more compassionate, and more grateful than you ever thought you could be.