Again can be such an exhausting word. Every time I think about it, memories of my dad teaching my brother and I how to swim come to mind. Take a deep breath. Let the air swell in your lungs, lunge forward and give it your best, he’d say. I’d nod, bring my hands together, body all gangly and shivering in the cold as I stood on the opposite end of the pool and tell myself to go for it.
Remember to breath, he’d say a little louder as I did my lap. Right. If you’re a swimmer, then you know that your lap and form is as good as your breathing technique. And once you’re done with your mediocre lap? You’d get a pat on your back and get asked do it all over again. That’s how I see again. That’s how I hear again. It’s a sore word in my life in more ways than one.
Again was my 2018 word.
Not too long after neighbours had come out of their homes to watch the fireworks and shout Happy New Year into the night sky, the journey of again began for my husband and I. It’s as though we found ourselves standing on the crux of every promise God had ever spoken to us.