Living in Brokenness

Near the North Aurora dam there is a big crack in the ice. The crack extends out from the east edge, cutting a diagonal line that ends mid-river, at the mouth of the dam. Water from underneath the ice flows down and over the shallow dam. This crack creates a large triangle, about two hundred feet on its longest side.

I imagine this triangle, this massive chunk of ice, cracking off. How exciting and frightening it would be to see it come crashing down the tiny falls, breaking into smaller pieces. I imagine the noise, the piercing cracks, the pushing of air from the wings of surprised mallards, geese, and herons, and the immense splashes of solid hitting liquid. All of this would take place rather quickly and then things would gradually go back to the way they were.

Sometime in our lives, we are living with a crack. We’re so afraid of a part of us breaking off and flowing down the river. We’re afraid of the repercussions, of getting hurt, of hurting others. But God is with us. Even when the piece breaks off. Even as we gradually get back to whom we once were. Even if we’ve changed and that triangle of us is forever gone, God remains with us.

This blog is an excerpt from my latest book: Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond: A Daily Devotional, sold through Amazon.
Artwork: “St. Teresa’s Egg Cup” by Sondra Sula. All photos © Sondra Sula.

Made for Wonder

“Everyday Wonder” by Sondra Sula

Fifteen years ago I began the tradition of taking an extra-long, ten-mile walk on my birthday as a gift to myself. I begin in the village of North Aurora, traverse the towns of Batavia and Geneva, and eventually end up in Saint Charles. I am fortunate that I live near a trail running along the Fox River, and also blessed to have a spouse who will pick me up and drive me back to my car on this special day so I don’t have to walk in a loop.

“Contemplating River Life” by Sondra Sula

I am continually amazed by the uniqueness of each walk, no matter how many times I’ve passed the same spot. Yesterday and today can never be the same. Each plant is growing, each creature is transforming, and the hours added to my life have changed my perspective from one day to the next. I can’t even recall the lovely scene I just witnessed without adding or subtracting elements within the gray creases of my brain.

“Tiny Bubbles” by Sondra Sula

Last year when I took a short break to sit on a stone, I found a shed snakeskin—once tough, now brittle. This year a two-inch goldfish hangs in the shallows next to the shadow cast by my wild hair. It remains still, like a listening friend, as I compose an audible poem glorifying its orangeness. The fish darts away at my first animated gesture and I am left to contemplate a motionless fungus.

“Geometric Pansies” by Sondra Sula

I never tire of sunlight passing through chartreuse Solomon’s seal bells, of goslings stretching their new wing nubs, of bubbly foam making patterns on the river’s surface. I can’t pass by the outdoor kaleidoscope in Batavia without looking through its damaged lens and seeing a geometric swirl of freshly planted pansies. And every time I see a tree trunk slowly enveloping a wire fence, I think about how surprisingly strong plants can be.

Frankly, every deliciously decadent flower and fascinating insect competes for my attention. And that’s okay, because we were made for wonder.

“Unexpected Strength” by Sondra Sula