The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.

Ernest Hemingway

It’s the end of yet another year, a time for inevitable reflection. Frankly, I try to stay busy enough so that I rarely have the time for reflection. But as the year winds down, so do the days. The hands on the clock begin to crawl rather than race, the days languorously stretch before us; and, trapped as we are in that slow-motion dance, we are loathe to resist as our hearts become bathed in memories heretofore squashed and wishes gone unfulfilled. It is inevitable; this gathering of emotions and remembrances, for one can never outrun them. They are always with us, always a part of us.

Christmas Day, amidst all the chaos and gifting and gorging, I hugged each of my children tight and silently thanked God for the gift of each of them; and even more, for the gift of being in their presence on that day. It’s a gift I’ll never take for granted. I don’t know that I ever truly did, but if so, I know I never will again. The scars of yesterday are etched upon our hearts. The tears are gone, but we are forever changed.

When my brother and his wife arrived, I threw my arms around him, thankful for the peace that reigns in our lives today, but ever mindful of the madness that marked so many of the past years. As we pulled away from each other, he whispered in my ear, “We are so blessed now, aren’t we? So blessed to be so happy.” We hugged again and blinked away the tears. The pain is gone, but we are forever changed.

As I delighted in watching my grandchildren tear open their gifts, I drank in the exquisite simplicity of their joy. I reveled in their innocence, in the absence of fear or sadness in their countenance. They are growing up so quickly, but I watch and I mark each year with one thought: That’s what joy and innocence looks like in a three-year-old, a six-year-old, an eight-year-old. And every time I silently make that observation, it heals me in a different broken place. The tears and the pain are gone, but I am forever changed.

I recognize now that so many of the broken places are healed. Not as if they were never broken, but in a different, even better way. Hemingway was right. The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong in the broken places.

We are strong in the broken places. I am strong in the broken places.