The small town I grew up in nestles near the foothills of the Blue Mountains. In winter, fog settles in like a close friend, creating layers of gray that bathe everything like a soft focus lens. To this day, I completely love fog....its gentle envelopment and quiet mystery. I feel comforted and held by fog. It's sacred space for me. Rest and solitude. Light and voice.
Where I live now, I am just a few minutes' walk from Puget Sound where vessels large and small make their way through the steel waters all night long. This week, the fog arrived....mornings of opaque misty gray, amazing banks of clouds hovering over the waves, lit at night by the full autumn moon. Tonight a symphony of foghorns sound their way across the water into my home. It's cold out but my windows are open, inviting in the deep resonating tones as boats make their way through the night. It's a lonely sound and a calling out.
My sweet baby is down, cuddled in soft pajamas and blankets, his ear inclined toward the open window and the foghorns across the way. He had a long day with little napping so he's somewhat agitated in his sleep. He cries out periodically and I go to him, offer the gentle pressure of my hand on his little body, lay my head next to his. He gently sighs his way to letting go. His tiny hands wrap mine to his chest even in his semi-sleep. I listen to the foghorns as he sounds his way to rest, warm tears dampening my cheeks as the struggles of this journey flood my heart. Even with moments of clarity and the growth of an intensely deep and abiding love, the last four months have been foggy. This is so hard. And this moment is so right.
I am saying goodbye to a friend this week, a woman I've known for a short period but whose space in my heart is marked indelibly. Our tears today were hard. Very hard. I don't want to let her go. I listen to the foghorns and reflect on her experiences. She has taught me about reaching out, about making moves one at a time, about risks toward unseen hopes, about staying in and naming realities, about the "-ing" of faith and in human relationships. She reminds me that we do not wrap up life in our places, that we take our stories as we move. She is courageous and loyal and seeks living honestly, and I am better for her voice. Our relationship reminds me that when the future, even the very moment, is foggy, there is still a sounding to do.
The foghorns are peace for me tonight as I say goodbye to my friend, pause to settle my sleeping child, wait to hear the resonance of my own heart in the moment.
Despite the dangers in movement, the ship dares not be silent nor still.
We must move through fog. And the only way to do that is one layer at a time.
