It was a blinding, radiant white the day we got married, me floating down the aisle bathed in gold and candlelight. I was draped in lace, the flowers woven into my hair as fresh as my love as I gave everything to that “I do.”
He wore a pinstriped tux that we got for free by coercing his unsuspecting groomsmen into also renting overly expensive suits for a fancy dinner.
We stood at the altar in black and white and we loved each other and there were no shades of grey.
When it broke it broke hard, slipped right through our fingers and shattered as we stood next to an incubator and watched our only child struggle to live.
I couldn’t mend it because my hands were full of baby and my heart was full of splintered sadness.
And he was missing.
It sat in pieces until we tried to put it back together and then it didn’t fit like before, nothing was easy and light and carefree.
Now you can run your fingers along the cracks, see where it’s patched and where whole pieces are still missing.
Rarely does something break without collateral damage, tiny shards we’re still picking through with fingers bloodied. They way I twist one of the missing pieces around in my pocket, unsure if I want to trace the edges with glue and place it back in permanently because I am afraid of risking again.
I didn’t expect the portrait of us to shift from vibrant color to these muddled shades of grey. I didn’t expect that love wouldn’t feel black and white anymore or that we would stare across a room hollow-eyed as we toiled through the hardest parts.
I didn’t expect to find hope there, in the dredges, but oh I found it. Because Hope was meant to be like breathing, all earth and air and a promise that says “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” (John 14:6)
And truth is not black and white.
Truth is crimson, stained on a cross and red-letter words that say, “I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of.” (John 10:10)
There are no shades of grey in scarlet letters and that simple truth anchors hope into my soul when everything else is unmoored.
“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, safe and secure.” (Hebrews 6:19)
Kayla Aimee is a writer, mother and slightly spirited southern girl who spends her days uncovering hope and humor in unexpected places. She makes her home and garden in northern Georgia with her husband and daughter Scarlette, a former 25-week micro-preemie. Kayla shares stories of faith, family and her favorite things at www.kaylaaimee.com. She just released her first book, Anchored: Finding Hope in the Unexpected.
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