I started writing this almost a month ago. Every time I start to finish it, I can't. On Christmas Eve, I am going to finish it, no matter what.
Almost two weeks ago, my town and neighbors' town got hit by numerous tornadoes. Friends have picked through piles of wood, metal, glass, countertop pieces, and insulation (insulation everywhere, in every shred of fabric) for pictures and mementos.
People sort through debris for baby footprint cards, first-cut locks of hair, baptismal gowns, and first birthday party invitations.
Kind people on Facebook started a page for other kind people to post lost and found pictures, sometimes hundreds of miles away. That is one positive- when FEMA and Red Cross trucks arrive to your town, you will also witness that giving human spirit that's not always evident:
Good natured people will look for the humor, the slight juxtaposition of ruins and functionality.
Every time I went to write this post, I kept thinking how I couldn't put into words the smallness I felt. I have a tiny blog, and it can't matter what I write. I felt inconsequential, knowing that I typed in a comfy chair in my own house with safe belongings that the multicolors of insulation do not clutter, the hidden shards in beloved quilts and clothing, able to poke and remind owners that the tornado still affects them.
It will take years for Central Illinois to rebuild from the November tornado, and the survivors may open a scrapbook page in fifty years, only to find a pink piece of insulation in the corner.
My neighbors who survived the tornado will need to talk about their experiences to recover. Writing on my blog about the inconsequential events of life may not help a single one of them.
This Christmas, I have learned that is fine, but noticing small, every day events in my home is a privilege not everyone has. So, I want to remember my four year old dancing by the tree,
My six year old learning to cut a tree,
and my baby riding a zebra.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and here's hoping we notice the everyday events in our lives.