When I sat
down to write today's offering, it felt more like I was writing a sermon. And
while I've been away from that frame of mind for a while, this approach seems
to be befitting. Sometimes finding the light in darkness takes more than just
hitting a switch... Look, we've all been there, stuck in that pitch-black room,
fumbling for the light switch that feels just out of reach. The wall should be
right here, right? But your fingers find nothing but air, and that momentary
panic sets in. That's life sometimes—disorienting darkness where the familiar
suddenly becomes foreign. And just when you think you'll be trapped forever in
the shadows, your eyes adjust enough to make out the faintest outlines, or
maybe someone else walks in with a flashlight you didn't even know you needed.
I'm no
spiritual guru claiming to have all the answers. Far from it. But I've spent
enough time in the dark to know something about finding those hidden sources of
light. And lately, I've been witnessing a masterclass in illumination from the
woman who shares my life. There's something raw and real about watching someone
you love deal with heartache. As March rolls in—when the world starts shaking
off winter's chill and reaching for something new—I'm watching my wife shoulder
a weight I know too well.
Years ago,
while grinding through my memoir "Turtles Win Rabbit Races," my boy
J.D. put me on to the Hero's Journey. Not gonna lie, it blew my mind and
completely transformed not just my writing, but how I see the struggles we all
face. Right now, I'm living that "meeting with the goddess"
stage—where the hero connects with a powerful force that drops essential wisdom
for the road ahead. Kind of like Neo meeting Trinity in The Matrix, that moment
when you link with something bigger than yourself that helps you level up.
As my wife
holds down the fort in her mom's hospital room, where pneumonia has her
fighting hard, I see parallels to both this goddess encounter and the biblical
Plague of Darkness. In Exodus 10:21-23, darkness locked down Egypt for three
straight days, so thick that "people could not see each other or rise from
their places." But hear me, (in my preacher's voice): "All the sons
of Israel had light in their dwellings."
Watching my
wife navigate this darkness is witnessing someone walking through life with
their own internal flashlight. Having lost both my parents already, I know that
particular heaviness, that disorienting fog that settles when someone you love
is not the person you've always known them to be. It's paralyzing, just like that
biblical darkness where even basic movement became impossible.
But my wife?
She's got that light they talked about. The "goddess" energy isn't
some mystical fairy tale character, it's in her consistent grind to the
hospital and nursing home, in the way her fingers stroke her mom's hair when
it's messy, in how she patiently repeats family stories hoping for that flicker
of recognition. She's bringing light into those sterile hallways, even when
she's too exhausted to see her own glow.
The plague
of darkness came right before the Israelites gained their freedom; their
breakthrough happened after their darkest moment. Similarly, as we enter this
season of blooming in March, I'm reminded that the most powerful growth usually
comes from the most difficult soil. Meeting the goddess isn't always some
dramatic movie scene, sometimes it's discovering your own divine strength when
life has you backed against the wall.
For anyone
out there holding someone else's hand through their dark season, whether it's a
parent, partner, or friend, recognize that your presence is that dwelling of
light in someone else's darkness. Those small moves, fixing a pillow, applying
a sponge to dry lips, uncomfortably changing an adult diaper, a phone call, a
pop-up visit, or just sitting in silence when words don't cut it, that's sacred
work you're doing.
As you walk
these tough roads, remember that even the plague of darkness only lasted three
days. Your journey might be longer, but it has its season too. That goddess
energy you embody—nurturing, protective, wise beyond explanation, isn't
weakened by your exhaustion or tears. If anything, they make it shine brighter.
In those
moments when hospital corridors seem endless and medical updates start sounding
like Charlie Brown's teacher, remember you're carrying both the Israelites'
light and the goddess's wisdom inside you. Your strength isn't separate from
your vulnerability, they're different sides of the same love.
Spring is
coming, just like it always does. This darkness, no matter how complete it
feels right now, is temporary. And when it finally lifts, you'll emerge
different, connected on a deeper level to that wisdom that holds it down when
logic and plans fall apart.
They say
March comes in like a lion and bounces out like a lamb. Right now, she's
straight up facing that lion, all teeth and roar, with those thoughts of
"what happens next" and that frustration of feelings that leave you
drained. But that same month that starts with chaos ends in harmony. That's the
vibe shift coming your way.
In Adar
(March on the Hebrew calendar), Jewish tradition talks about how joy multiplies,
not because hardships disappear, but because we learn to carry both the dark
and light simultaneously. Like those first flowers pushing through concrete
cracks in the hood, or cherry blossoms popping off before winter's even packed
its bags, strength isn't about dodging the darkness—it's about blooming anyway,
right in the middle of it all. And just like those March flowers that survive
crazy Chicago cold snaps and end up blanketing the city by April, what you or
my wife are nurturing now—even in fluorescent-lit hospital corridors—will grow
into something beautiful that outlasts this cold. That's real talk.
Bloom
where you are planted.
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