It has been a week of pain. I hurt, and I know that others that I care deeply about do as well. My pain is physical, as the fractured clavicle reminds me with every bounce of my step, swing of my arm, or turn in bed. Emotionally I battle as well, battle the pain of losing, of failing, of knowing that I am not going where I thought I was going to go. I have watched pain in those close to me, pain that is not mine to share, but pain that is real and tearful and permanent.
This has been a week of pain. Perhaps it has been for you as well.
But it is impossible to ignore the intoxicating aroma of the freshly cut lilacs in my kitchen and the full batch of fruit cups, the annual true sign of summer goodness, my wife is preparing for my delight. And I know that my world is good.
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