Today is August first.
A friend just passed the first anniversary of her father's death. She called the week before and said, "All week I've been angry at everyone around me, and didn't know why. Until I realized the date." Isn't that a strange thing? That our emotions respond to important dates and seasons separate from any conscious thought? That's how today has been for me.
There's no cross on the side of the road, nothing that says, a life was here, and now it's not. Everything happens within. So today there's nowhere to put flowers, to acknowledge the date and move forward.
If you were to ask, I would say I'm fine. Goodness knows my life is brimming, and I cannot imagine being needed any more than I am right now. But some part of me feels the date anyway.
Carrie said this afternoon, "Not until I was a mom did I understand the verse, 'His mercies are new every morning.'" I'm counting on that. Because friends, honestly, among weeks that involve regular old hard things (not things like death or airplanes crashing into buildings), this week has been my worst in recent memory. But now it's the weekend, Asher is sleeping and eating again, and August first is almost over.
And His mercies will be new in the morning.