Dirt by Mary Marantzಮಾದರಿ

Day Four

Finding Home Again

Scripture: Malachi 4:6a; 1 Corinthians 13:12–13

Here’s the thing. You go into the world and you start to think the right couch or car or clothes will be your redemption. That a happy marriage, the 2.7 kids, a mortgage, an SUV, and the right school district with the gluten-free cupcakes will somehow set you free.

They don’t. None of it changes your story. And you have to find a way to make peace with that or it will be the undoing of the rest of your life. 

You get older, and you realize just how hard being an adult really is. You get older and you turn the same age your parents were when you were born, when you took your first steps, when you started kindergarten. 

You get older, and you realize that all the time you were growing up . . . maybe your parents were just trying to grow up, too. Two kids doing the best they could. 

You get older and you mess up. A lot. 

You realize just how often you need mercy too. And empathy floods like warm, golden light, where once, the stark winter landscape of bitterness used to reside. Like sparks of understanding lighting up the night sky, guiding your way back home. 

For the first time ever, you see things from their perspective. 

It’s messy and hard, gritty and imperfect. That part you always knew. But now a new kaleidoscope of color glows in the darkness, reflecting scenes of your life on a white linen sheet of undisturbed snow. A string of grace, shedding light on a different part of the story. One of love and sacrifice and always doing the best they could. Of sometimes coming up short, just like you have, but never for lack of trying. And never for lack of love. 

Once you see it, you can’t look away. It’s hypnotic. It’s humbling. It’s haunting.

It’s almost . . . beautiful. 

Questions: Who in your childhood do you see differently now that you are an adult? In what ways does love overcome painful memories from your past?