And then the rage came.
It swirled around me this morning, full of fear and fire and fury, and it made me mad. Angry. But more than angry. Resentful and red that such a thing would happen. That such a disease could exist. That beast cancer could act so fast and so thoroughly and so … wrongly.
I locked myself in my room and searched for answers. Thumbed the books. Searched the sites. Talked and wrote. But no answers came. There are none, you see. There are no reasons for such nastiness and disease to exist in the world, and even if there were, there is no rational reason why any individual should have to suffer its effects.
And so, this afternoon, I lay quietly on the hammock with my baby, and let the world wash over me and around me. The leaves rustled with the slightest breeze. The bees and butterflies set about pollinating the overgrown mint borders and the dying tomatoes in the garden. The hammock swung gently as I pushed us ever so softly through the air.
I was cradled by nature.
And I was reminded that the same world that holds disease and fear and rage also holds the comfort of nature and God.