I woke up this morning and per usual, I looked out my window and began my time with God. As I write this, I’ve never seen such a beautiful combination of clouds. The sky is a light blue with small clouds grayish on the underside and fluffy white on top, suggestive of the imperfect world below them covered by the illuminated heavenly world above. The fluffy white parts of the clouds are almost glowing as they unrestrictedly bask in the warm glow of the brilliance of what shines above them. I can’t see the heavens but I surely can feel them. . .

In the forefront I also see a utility pole with a transformer and the calm ocean as a backdrop. Years ago in a Shabbat encouragement I had noodled about how a person could look out my upstairs window and maybe not be able to appreciate the ocean’s beauty because they could only notice the ugliness of the transformer as a detraction. Recently I wrote about that same transformer as suggestive of the both/and of life, ugliness and beauty, suffering and joy co-existing. This morning  I have yet another reflection about that pole and transformer. I see its beauty and I am grateful.

Over the past few weeks I’ve shared with you the misery of waiting for the DNA comparison results of Jane Doe’s to mine, the suffering around the loss of my daughter AnnaLisa. I wouldn’t wish this on Hitler. Yet this fate is part of my journey in some unimaginable human way to understand, yet I’m glad it’s here just like that unsightly transformer – calling it for what it is.

No one escapes pain and suffering, for we all will have some level of this in our lives. It’s part of being human. No one wants pain and suffering but since we know we’re going to have it we hope that it won’t be any worse than necessary.

Trauma may shake us around like a junkyard dog with its prey dangling from its gnarly teeth. I purposely picked a disgusting metaphor for that’s what the emotional, physical, and spiritual pain feels like when we are caught in the jaws of the evil one’s attempt to ravage us.

Rather than succumb we can recognize that we are being asked to grow. God is not causing our suffering. It is one of the human conditions. We must not forget that joy is part of life as well. In fact, we must try to remind ourselves of that truth when in the midst of sorrow. What we do with pain and suffering – our choices, our knowledge, our trust in God – will determine the value of one of the hardest realities of life.

We are being asked to accept this challenge. If we face it trusting in God, we will emerge from the experience with hearts more fully able to love ourselves, each other, and love God.

As I finish writing this, a deeper blue October sky is developing and becoming more visible as the small clouds are parting. I gratefully appreciate the disparate wires on the transformer that bring light to our darkness. The pole and the equipment have a deeper purpose that literally outshines their detraction. I rest in the glory of the peek at the heavens, so comforting. I know that whatever the days reveal I will be fine.

In the days to come I may need to re-immerse in the memory of these moments with our Creator, remind myself of these truths so vibrant now in my heart and mind, in order to handle information that will be difficult for me to bear. Was the DNA comparison definitive? Is Jane Doe my daughter? If so, what is in that file about Jane Doe’s last moments? Has this nightmare just been a test? What if Jane Doe is not my daughter? If not, then why so many weeks of suffering?

When the next blow strikes I pray that I will once again be able to experience this overwhelming feeling of God‘s Presence that I am so embraced in now. I thank God for being with me in this moment, loving and fortifying me for whatever the future may bring in this chapter of my life.

Thank you, God.

Just as I finished writing this, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of someone speedily walking toward the lobster pound at the end of our street. It is closed and there is no one else outside. The image went by quickly but in my mother‘s heart it so looked like it could’ve been my daughter.

Of course I knew it wasn’t her. This was a real person, but the style of clothes, the stature, the style of walk were so like hers!  I leaped out of bed but could not find my glasses anywhere! Was it my imagination?! What was God trying to tell me?

When I finally found my glasses I was able to see her from a distance collecting sea glass at the beach area by the shore. I waited.

As she returned and walked past my window, I could see her more clearly. She didn’t look like my daughter. She was older and taller, and actually walking with much more confidence. Yet I knew in my heart once again God was speaking to me.

It wasn’t a trick that my eyes had played on me. It was me being told that that child of mine is fine.

Shabbat shalom.

Diane