I am sitting on the deck in the summer evening eating dinner alone.

I got home late from work and fixed a plate of leftovers. The family had eaten an early dinner and were in for the evening.

The deck and sky beckoned me to a meal of solitude outside.

My heart is full of worry. Some family members are not well, teetering on the fragility of life.

I ate dinner slowly and savored a glass of 2017 cabernet sauvignon.

The forthcoming sunset invited me to stay for the late show, and creation did not disappoint. I watched the most incredible sunset since I have lived in our current home.

I became so absorbed by its beauty and majesty that I wept throughout the moment while snapping photos on my phone.

It was as if the sunset became a liturgy of thanksgiving. The evening provided the eucharistic table to feast upon grief and gratitude.

I wept amid my vulnerability, helplessness, and heartache. I prayed "thank you" along with the tears and cried "Wow" as I took photos.

It all felt incredibly holy.

As darkness covered the sky and ended the service, I remembered the following about the fullness of life.

Since I got sober, I have never been fine again, not for a single moment. I have been exhausted and terrified, and angry. I have been overwhelmed and underwhelmed and debilitatingly depressed and anxious. I have been amazed and awed and delighted and overjoyed to bursting. I have been reminded, constantly, by the Ache: This will pass; stay close. I have been alive. – Glennon Doyle, Untamed

A Gentle Life Lesson

Embrace it all. Feel it all.

There are threads of grace throughout the fabric of life.

Being fully human is not about feeling happy, it's about feeling everything. – Glennon Doyle, Untamed