serendipity

I come home weighed down with living, bag sliding off my shoulder down to the bend in my elbow. I carry too much; in all ways this is true, but by and by, I’m learning to let go. Balancing, I shift the load to find my key, carefully taking the steps. I imagine falling up, my arms suddenly spilling, lipstick rolling out of my purse. I imagine the papers in my fingers caught up by the breeze and scattered, blank white stamps dotting the mulch in the flower bed. Progress is that way sometimes, like a sudden upward-fall that makes us drop everything. I grip the papers harder, until they bend in my fingers.

While we were gone, pressing through traffic, our sweetness draining away, the postal person left a box.

I peer down over the work now claiming–now clotting–my embrace, and catching the practical lines of my aunt’s handwriting, I smile. I had thought maybe medical supplies or some household products we ordered online for a better deal, but–what could this be? A sticker on the corner of the box warns: FRAGILE, and I nod, because I am. Just from the writing I conjure my aunt’s hand, carefully writing my address on that label; I see her arms, carrying the box. She might as well be here on the porch sitting in the rocking chair, eyes twinkling, smile affectionately smirking at me. I go to that chair and unburden my arms, gently letting go. The chair moves ever so slowly beneath the weight. The papers flutter, all but the corner pinned down by planner and laptop and notebooks scrawled with action.

I pause before the door. Give thanks, it says, in vinyl letters I applied some time ago. Up close, I can see the places where the letters have split and cracked, how they come together like jointed bones. Bending to pick up the box, I think: how funny it is that we can all look so smooth from far away, but up close, up where you can see the breaks of stress and time, our gratitude shows up strong and stubborn. There’s nothing frothy about gratefulness.

Thank you; the thought comes, sincere. The box feels remarkably light in my arms for something heavy with love and full of acknowledgement, but then, arms full of love should be lighter for it. Isn’t that what Jesus really meant when he said, “My yoke is easy, my burden is light (Matthew 11:30)? Surely not that living would be effortless and straightforward. Jesus never hedged on the truth that following is cross-shaped. I unlock the front door, carrying the package in my arms, remembering that I’m known–up close and broken and choosing hard. My aunt loves me because I’m hers. God loves you because you’re His.

What was it that Jesus said before that bit? “Come to me, you who are weary and over-burdened, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28).” I smile, thinking I’m living that good news right now, dropping the heavy day to gather up love and grace. I grab the scissors and slit the seal on the box, curious, digging under packing material to withdraw a card and a mug, the prettiest I’ve seen in a while. Butterflies of every size and color float over the sides, curved to encourage warmth cupped in the palms. Colorless bisque flowers rise from the surface; their delicate petals draw my fingers. I have to look up the French word–cherche, jotted and circled like a doodled note above my thumb. It means looking, and yes, I’m always looking; and yes, some seeing must be done by touch; and yes, the best way to love is to empty the arms of everything else. On the mug in my hands, roses climb, a few birds perch, wildflowers fan from the mouth of a vase labeled Love.

On the card, my aunt has written simply, I never see anything with butterflies and not think of you.

I grab my phone and text my aunt: You always seem to know just when I need some encouragement.

In a beat she sends back: Serendipity, my dear.

I can hear her voice, see her wry smile, and I smile all the more, because this gift emptied my burdened hands only to fill them back up with eternity.

I never see a butterfly without remembering God and how He loves, without remembering that He is always, always making something all new.