Just the Next Thing

The path may seem endless. 

But you only have to take the next step 

The 4th of July was this weekend. Gary loved it.

He looked forward to it all year. He planned the barbecue. The water fights. The fireworks. He turned into a big kid. He called himself a playbabe, and on the 4th of July he was the biggest playbabe you ever saw. It was his holiday. He asked the whole family over. He made it special.

So the 4th is one of those days now. One of the hard ones the calendar hands you, ready or not.

But lately I've been thinking about something bigger than one day. Bigger than the holidays. Bigger than the anniversaries. It snuck up on me.

This is for the long haul.

Being a widow isn't a season I'm going to finish. It isn't something I get to be done with and put down. It's a long road. And when I look up and try to find the end of it, there is no end. It just keeps going.

Some days that's the hardest part. Not this Tuesday. Not next Wednesday. It's the whole long road, going on and on past where I can see. If you've felt that, you know how heavy it is. It can knock the wind right out of you.

I journal every morning. Earlier this week, I sat down to journal,and a poem showed up. One I needed to hear.

When you get out there
And feel far from home
May you know?
There is grace
To come alive
In your unknowns.

There is freedom
There is peace
To not be worried
About everything.
Trusting fully
That hope will rise,
Even in uncertainty.

— Morgan Harper Nichols

Grace to come alive in your unknowns. That line got me.

Because the long road ahead is one big unknown. That's what makes it so scary. I can't see it. I can't plan it. I don't know who I'll be way down at the end, or if there even is an end.

But here's the thing. I've walked into unknowns before.

I didn't know my future the day I graduated high school.
I didn't know my future the day I got married.
I didn't know my future the day I became a mother.
Those days were full of unknowns too.

They didn't scare me the way this one does, though. Those unknowns had hope built into them. I couldn't see what was coming, but I knew something good might be. That was enough to keep walking.

The hard part of widowhood is that it feels like the hope got taken. Like there's nothing good waiting out there in the dark anymore.

But that's just how it feels. It isn't true.

There is still hope. Because you still carry the love of your person. That love didn't die when their breath stopped. You carry it with you, the whole long road. The love is still here. So the hope is too.

The poem didn't tell me to figure it out. It didn't tell me to have it all handled. It didn’t give me the answer but it gave me something better; something softer. It said there's grace out there in the not knowing. It said hope can still show up, even when things feel uncertain. Even here. Even now.

Here's what I keep coming back to. I don't have to walk the whole road today. I was never meant to. Nobody gets handed the whole journey to carry all at once.

When forever starts to feel too big, I don't have to solve it. I just have to do the next thing.

Just the next thing.

Take the next breath. Drink some water. Answer one email. Take a walk. Pay the bill. Go to bed. Get up tomorrow. The next thing is almost always small. And almost always something you can do. You don't owe today the rest of your life. You just owe it one small step.

I learned this with days like the 4th. I used to think a day like that had to be perfect or be ruined. Like it was my job to fix it and make it happy again. Then I learned something. A day doesn't come with its own meaning. I get to choose what it means to me. Some days I choose… I made it through this one. Some days I choose… Gary loved this day, and I love him, and I felt that today. Picking the meaning of one day is really just doing the next thing.

So that's what I want to give you, if the road feels too long and you're tired of looking at all of it. You don't have to look at all of it. Just look at the next thing. And take care of yourself while you do it. You're the one who has to walk this. Be kind to yourself for walking it.

The road is long. I know it is. But I only have to take the next step. And so do you.

If this whole journey feels like too much to hold right now, you don't have to hold it alone. Schedule a free Holding the Ember call whenever you're ready. We can talk about the next thing, and only the next thing. That's enough for now.