Unexpected gifts in the dark

 By Mary Kay Roth

One early morning this past week, as usual, I let my dog, Pip, dash into the fenced-in backyard while I got ready for my sunrise walk.  But on this particular morning a fox was lingering close by and apparently Pip took chase, somehow getting over or through our fence.   

When I realized my pup was gone I rushed outside into the cold dark and started jogging through our neighborhood, up and down blocks, chasing down leads from walkers who all described seeing “the blur of a white dog.” After an hour or so, I ran out of leads, lost the trail and plodded the mile back home, discouraged, hoarse and sobbing.

But there was Pip, one tired and happy mutt, waiting for me on my front porch. And I gathered that big silly naughty rescue dog into my arms with love.

It was a simple moment in time. Nothing had gone wrong.  Yet I started thinking about the gift I’d been given that morning. Pip had not headed for any of the busy arterials in our area.  She hadn’t vanished.  She had found her way back home.

One of those unexpected gifts offered up by the universe.

A perfect cup of coffee. Getting Wordle in two guesses. Untangling strings of Christmas lights and all the lights – light up. Those live concerts this summer when musicians actually sang the three songs I really wanted to hear.

Indeed, I’m not talking about packages tied up in bows or the stuff on long holiday wish lists or items purchased on shopping trips to the mall (or even on Amazon Prime).

I’m talking about both trivial and profound blessings when life takes notice and takes you by surprise.

A lovely first snowfall that’s not too heavy to shovel. My car sliding on the ice after that latest snowstorm, the little Subaru whirling around and stopping – when no other car is coming. Walking around the lake at dawn after a difficult night and pausing to breathe in a simple sunrise.  

I’m talking about painting my new garage door in four different shades of color and loving my artwork (despite dire warnings of losing my warranty).  Dropping my cell phone on a recent hike – and within minutes having another walker shout out that he’d found it.  A bartender overhearing me say I’d always wanted to mix drinks, then asking me to come around the bar for a lesson in stirring up a whiskey sour.

I’m talking about one ordinary evening earlier this fall when I noticed a simple message on the neighborhood text chain – about magic in the sky –  then heading up to Woods Park to marvel over the most wondrous and surprise display of Northern Lights ever.  Glory, glory.

This coming week I will have my three-year cancer checkup, perhaps a strange topic for unexpected gifts.  I get crazy nervous at every one of these examinations, though I have every reason to expect good news. But the appointment does remind me about the lessons I found in that experience.

Yes, cancer sucks. But amidst the inevitable sadness I discovered an unexpected promise of transformation, the truly profound understanding that life is a gift. 

Somehow, lately I’ve lost that groove.

Over the past months I’d fallen into a miserable rut of whining and wailing.  Rest assured there is plenty to whine about: The horror of our country committing war crimes, the atrocities of what’s happening to our immigrant and refugee families, the endless saga of the Epstein files, a maniac giving insane advice on vaccinations.

Yet sometimes even I get tired of my own moaning and groaning.

I haven’t been paying attention.

To the brightest cardinal suddenly perched upon my living room windowsill – and the heron perched on the Holmes Lake bridge while I stood beside him. Or the magic of twilight on absolutely any evening of the week.

To new jeans that actually fit.  A fall election offering up a thin slice of hope and – good grief – even Marjorie Taylor Greene flipflopping her allegiance.

And, oh my gosh, to the bewildering and shocking good fortune of friendship, an unexpected gift that gobsmacks me every single day. 

Friends who go back to my childhood. Friends who provide wine and whiskey and deliveries of free firewood.  Friends who hold me when I cry.  Or who suggest we dance in the rain and place red roses on snowy graves at Wyuka.

When one of my friends asked about the topic of my blog today, they smiled and said that sounded “right on brand.”

Once upon a time I felt like a dork for seeking out silver linings and I’d point out how I write plenty of grumpy rantings. I can be grim. I can be dark. 

As I’ve grown older, however, I’m fine to be the nerd still looking for the light.

Because even when the pickings seem slim …

I gaze upon grandchildren, snuggled up in front of the fireplace. Discover my daughter has planned a surprise carriage ride. Find a Door Dash delivery of yellow curry on my doorstep, sent by my son … just because.

Admittedly, I have no clue what Trump will do tomorrow.  My cancer check awaits.

But Thanksgiving arrived this year with a house full of family, including both my niece and nephew, two young people sharply divided by politics – in case you didn’t read my last blog – who had vowed never again to spend holidays together.

Nonetheless, miraculously, an unexpected gift, they sat around the dinner table together.  

There was peace on earth.  

And a reinforced, fortified fence in my backyard.