My Own Epiphany

Epiphany /ɪˈpɪfəni/ [i-pif-uh-nee]
1. a Christian festival, observed on January 6, commemorating the manifestation of Christ to the gentiles in the persons of the Magi; Twelfth-day.
2. an appearance or manifestation, esp. of a deity.
3. a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.
4. a literary work or section of a work presenting, usually symbolically, such a moment of revelation and insight.


Like happiness, maybe an epiphany is something you choose, rather than wait for. So today, I am going to have an epiphany. I have all the ingredients lying about; all I have to do is toss them together and bake until transformed.

It's a beautiful day. Cold and wintry and perfect for soup and bread and hot cocoa with peppermint schnapps in it. I love this kind of weather. If spring is the season of rebirth, then winter days like this are those quiet days of late pregnancy. Those gentle days, when the baby is warm and safe and growing. Momma needs to rest a lot, for life is about to get exciting. That's what Mother Earth is doing: biding her time, conserving her strength for the coming spring, and it is beautiful.

Vince Gill is singing to me while I type here. Imagine that! And let me tell you, that boy can SING. It is inspiring to me. Partly because I can't sing, so I admire that talent in others. And partly because he is singing "The Key to Life". He reminds me that practice, passion and patience make all the difference. Indirectly, his music also reminds me that there is a creative force in each of us. Does it matter if what we create is a meaningful song, a beautiful painting or a finely crafted loaf of potato bread? Nope. All that matters is that we take the efforts of our hearts and hands and move life forward, one day at a time.

Standing on my desk I have a picture of my parents, when they were still dating. My Mom is wearing one of those lovely dresses women wore in the mid-fifties, with a full skirt and tiny waist. Her arms are bare and she looks beautiful. My dad stands next to her, sleeves rolled up, looking trim and handsome as he always did. All that I am, all that I ever was or will be, started there. That's pretty profound, isn't it?

It has been terribly difficult for me to resign myself to "put it in God's hands" when it comes to our son in Iraq. I'm more of a hands-on kind of girl. Now with the troubles in Gaza, I have no choice. Things could be worse, and might get there yet, so I surrender my own wish for control. Heavenly Father, hold my son safe in your hands and bring him home to us again, well and whole. Protect them all.

I am not the most patient person in the world. I could be more understanding. My math skills suck. I'm pretty messy, too. But I'm not so bad. The ones I love, I love with a depth they might never guess at. My love isn't the blind sort: I am fully aware of the flaws, but I love them anyway. I never figured love for a salad bar. You don't get to choose some things and leave others behind. Take the whole dinner or leave it alone.

I have a great passion for small things. I love all the little every day stuff. There is humor, and joy, and wisdom, and passion in all those overlooked bits. It's everywhere, if I look around. I'm not stupid: I know there are troubles, trials and pains innumerable in the world, and those, too, are everywhere if I look around. So I'll do what I can to face those with a realistic view to how I can change them. But they don't cancel out all the good. The joy is still there, waiting to be noticed, an angelic child who is too polite to clamor for the candy falling from life's pinata. You have to notice the joy that waits for you. And you will find it. What greater epiphany can there be?