Once again I was in Dallas for summer school and our class was following a hand drawn map to visit a community center. A small wavy line marked the Trinity River, but in my three summers I had yet to see a drop of rain. I was curious what a river in this hot, dry town might be.

Our line of cars crossed on a narrow bridge that was, according to the sign, the Trinity River. All I saw below was some dried grass and maybe a tree. The long bridge stretched ahead and before I knew it, we were sitting at a stoplight on the OTHER side of the bridge. Did I miss something? If there was a river there, I sure didn’t see it.

My idea of a river was more like the mighty Mississippi that passed near my home in Vicksburg, at the southern end of the verdant Mississippi Delta. Every day 48% of the freshwater on the North American continent sweeps by on its way to the Gulf of Mexico.

Unlike the exposed dry bed called Trinity, the Mississippi may appear placid but underneath the river teems with life. Giant catfish swim through it. Tugboats carry coal. And boaters know it as a deceptive place where seemingly innocent eddies can suck full-sized trees underwater to suddenly pop to the surface miles downstream. How could two rivers be so different?

As I rode back over that dry ditch of a river the idea came to me that maybe they weren’t so different. Perhaps once upon a time the Mississippi River looked just like this. One small creek fed into a larger one until slowly, over millions of years, that small stream became the river it is today.

The change didn’t come fast. It only came with time.

Time is one of those things we never seem to have enough of as we rush to work, rush to take the kids to practice or as we sit with a tapping foot in line at the nearby fast-food restaurant.

The pandemic forced a different type of time on us as it took away our distractions. Instead of handing the kids their dinner in a paper bag, we sat together at a table and shared a meal face to face. Ordinary trips to the assisted care facility became a treasured time for each person to fully look into the face of the other if only through a pane of glass. Everyday moments reminded us of their sacredness as we drew in for the quiet time. Everything was suddenly different. Life changed. At first it felt catastrophic but over time our lives adapted to the change.

Our personal version of catastrophe came years earlier in the form of James’ terminal cancer diagnosis. Just as some are fighting today to regain their pre-pandemic lives, we fought hard to hang on to our life together even as it slipped away. We maintained our placid surface as best we could but underneath, we adapted to our uncomfortable emerging life one stream, one creek, one raindrop at a time. Each doctor’s visit eroded our hope. We prepared for change as best we could.

James was a patient man, so it surprised me when he uncharacteristically fussed at me about my attitude. He was right. I was different.
I told him, “This disease of yours has changed you and it has changed me. I’ve become the person I need to be to fight for you.”

My declaration surprised me as well as him. Change had been subtle in us both. We grew less like flashy flowers and more like tree roots growing under the ground while snow and ice danced over them.

I felt strong as I realized that even in the face of sorrow, frustration, grief and terror somehow, I had grown. Something was different within me and whatever that was I was better prepared to face the inevitable end when he died four years later. I coped and reluctantly, I survived.

As we gingerly slip back into some semblance of normal life, turn your eyes from the past and look to who you are now and what you want for your future. Consider your gains as well as your losses and use this opportunity to consider how you want your ‘normal’ to be.

• In what quiet ways have you grown?
• What are you willing to let go?
• What is important to you now?
• What are you willing to fight to keep?

We live in a dynamic age. The Mississippi River took its time to become what it is today but that growth hasn’t been a luxury we could enjoy. The world has changed. You have changed. Growth continues. It may very well be like winter growth. We don’t see it because it’s not yet ready to reveal itself but it’s there.