Where the Lost Wander

That’s what marriage is. It’s shelter. It’s sustenance. It’s warmth. It’s finding rest in each other. It’s telling someone, You matter most.

We spend our lives complicating what we would do better to accept. Because in acceptance, we put our energies into transcendence.

That’s what hope feels like: the best air you’ve ever breathed after the worst fall you’ve ever taken. It hurts.

If nothing matters, then there’s no point. If everything matters, there’s no purpose. The trick is to find firm ground between the two ways of being.

Are you angry with the bird because he can fly, or angry with the horse for her beauty, or angry with the bear because he has fearsome teeth and claws? Because he’s bigger than you are? Stronger too? Destroying all the things you hate won’t change any of that. You still won’t be a bear or a bird or a horse. Hating men won’t make you a man. Hating your womb or your breasts or your own weakness won’t make those things go away. You’ll still be a woman. Hating never fixed anything. It seems simple, but most things are. We just complicate them. We spend our lives complicating what we would do better to accept. Because in acceptance, we put our energies into transcendence.

The pain. It's worth it. The more you love, the more it hurts. It's the only thing that is.

I hope the reader will experience the story in the spirit it was written, recognizing that who we are is not who they were, and judging historical people by today's standards prevents us from learning from them, from their mistakes and their triumphs. These people helped build the framework that we now stand on. We should be careful about burning it down.

Put your energy into rising above the things you can’t change, Naomi. Keep your mind right. And everything will work out for the best.

Hating never fixed anything. It seems simple, but most things are. We just complicate them. We spend our lives complicating what we would do better to accept. Because in acceptance, we put our energies into transcendence.

The hardest thing about life is knowing what matters and what doesn’t,” Winifred muses. “If nothing matters, then there’s no point. If everything matters, there’s no purpose. The trick is to find firm ground between the two ways of being.

It is impossible to explain to someone who is surrounded by their own language and people just how lonely it is to not understand and to not be understood.

Every path is likely just a different version of hard.

I’m convinced everyone is a little vile, if they are honest about it. Vile and scared and human.

Only God decides when and how the reaping comes. That has nothing to do with us. We worry about what we’re sowing.

The pain. It’s worth it. The more you love, the more it hurts. But it’s worth it. It’s the only thing that is.

Men are just frightened boys. God gave you stronger bodies to make up for your weaker spines.

Grief and joy are complicated. Love and loss too, and I know tears aren’t always what they seem.

I am weighed down by the unknown and by my inability to prepare for it.

The Andersons are from Norway. The McNeelys are Irish. Johann Gruber is from Germany. You’re part Indian, and I’m a widow.” She shrugs. “We all need each other. We can all live side by side peaceably, can’t we? We don’t all have to be exactly the same.

spent the first fifteen years of my life fighting everything and everyone. But . . . endurance . . . is a whole different kind of battle. It’s a hell of a lot harder. Don’t ever say you didn’t fight, because that’s never been true. Not one day of your whole life. You fought, Naomi. You’re still fighting.

I spent the first fifteen years of my life fighting everything and everyone. But . . . endurance . . . is a whole different kind of battle. It’s a hell of a lot harder.

It is the suffering of love. Every parent feels it. It is the suffering of being unable to shield or save.

end. I realize now that life is just a continual parting of the ways, some more painful than others.

Just trying to survive makes things pretty clear most days. We have to eat; we need shelter; we have to keep warm. Those things matter.” I nod. Simple enough. “But none of those things matter at all if you have no one to feed, to shelter, or to keep warm. If you have no one to survive for, why eat? Why sleep? Why care at all? So I guess it’s not what matters . . . but who matters.

Anger feels a whole lot better than fear,” Ma concedes. I nod, and she squeezes my arm again. “But anger is useless,” she insists. “Useless and futile.

And I've found that men are just frightened boys. God gave you stronger bodies to make up for your weaker spines

Thinking takes time. Feeling . . . not so much. Feeling is instant. It's reaction. But thinking? Thinking is hard work. Feeling doesn't take any work at all. I'm not saying it's wrong. Not saying it's right either. It just is. How I feel . . . I can't trust that, not right away, because how I feel today may not be how I feel tomorrow. Most people don't want to think through things. It's a whole lot easier not to. But time in the saddle gives a man lots of time to think.

Destroying all the things you hate won’t change any of that. You still won’t be a bear or a bird or a horse. Hating men won’t make you a man. Hating your womb or your breasts or your own weakness won’t make those things go away. You’ll still be a woman. Hating never fixed anything.