Make me feel like shining

I've tried to write my feelings a dozen different ways this morning, but nothing I've written seems to capture the weightiness in my heart. It seems ironic when life is so good, so bright, so full.

I've always been one to wonder and question.  It's been one of the many reasons I've been grateful a thousand-times over for a husband who seems to understand things clearly. He helps me uncomplicate my thoughts and line them up into understandable rows.

I like to think I'm a lot like my great-grandmother who is said to have been same. My grandfather said she was very intelligent, always thinking and writing and trying to uncover the mysteries she faced. Sometimes I wish I could talk to her and learn how held so tightly to things she believed and could understand, and gripped less tightly to those things which made her mind wander or her faith slip.

Not that mine is dangerously slipping. But it seems like everywhere I turn I see another person who I love decide that faith is too complicated, too hard, or too unknown. And it sometimes puts a hiccup in my normally steadily-humming heart. I understand how easy it is to let one domino knock down another and another until you're too confused to set them up again. I've had to learn what my reset buttons are—certain things to come back to, certain passages to rely on, certain people to steady me—and find the strength (or often humility) to press them.

And I'm confident other people will figure it out because I believe in people. I guess I'm just feeling the weight of what it means to be a human struggling to spiritually contextualize humanness. I'm feeling the heaviness of watching others grope for truth and realize that I'm right by their side, groping in my own way for pieces of light that make me feel like shining.