Lessons: What The Promises Mean

Last updated on: February 6, 2014 at 6:45 pm by Kaitlin B. Curtice

Lessons: What The Promises Mean 2014-02-06T18:45:20-04:00 Kaitlin B. Curtice

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The snow still falls. The flakes are tiny, barely even flakes at all, and yet they multiply before they even hit the ground, becoming a sheer, white blanket.

This morning we woke up with motivation. Biscuits in the oven, eggs scrambling in the skillet, Eliot sweeping the floor and giving Isaiah toys to chew on.

After eating, we sat facing each other; Travis sprawled on the couch as I scrunched into the recliner, teal journal in hand. We decided to walk through the last four years on paper, to jot down all the blessings we’ve received, all the life we’ve lived.

We started way, way back in the town where we were married. We started way back before little boys danced on our floors and kept us up at night and gave us kisses.

We started with a meeting at an art gallery that led to a Master’s degree. We moved on to that time we received a Macbook Pro as a loving gift because we’d had our little Dell stolen. We walked through quitting jobs and teaching and giving birth to our oldest.

We journeyed through the quiet and broken stillness of devastation, a tornado shattering our hometown to bits, and new friends who jumped into the car to give us comfort as we returned to love on family.

We remembered meeting people, opportunities that led to more meetings and more people, and here we are, waiting for our future to umask itself to us.

We laughed about the time I took an “F” for a class so I wouldn’t have a nervous breakdown at 3 months of pregnancy, and we forgave the fear that held me there before I let it go.

I listened to “Healing’s Coming” and breathed deeply to take in every little bit of this past 4 years. I try hard to contain it, but alas, the tears flow and shoulders bob and I clutch my arms to my chest as I remember it all.

What do the promises mean?

The promise of provision, of life, of deep peace during deep darkness.

The promise of mercy and grace, flowing down in heaps.

The promise of a willed future, of clear steps along the winding paths.

The promise of adventure and fullness.

These promises mean everything, and we are longing for more. Every moment, more, until the winding and uncharted paths unwind to straight and clear ones, and we find ourselves once again covered in thanks, covered with sheer white like the ground is with snowfall.

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