Because little sisters grow up and get married. And such happiness deserves a party.
“‘There’s only two things that money can’t buy,’ Papa would say. ‘That’s true, true love and homegrown tomatoes.'”
~Kevin West, in this book
When the moment is past, and the letter has come and the fears of 3:00 in the night have faded…The first conviction I have is of lost time.
The time lost worrying, doubting, fretting, my voice in a continual ungodly whine.
The time lost fearing every uncomfortable thing, when I could have been practicing faith.
Faith that God is good in the waiting. That He will keep us no matter the outcome. That this time, this phase, these moments…or exactly where I need to be.
And when the prayers are answered yes, I resolve… In the trials that come, I want to be the festal shout, right in the middle of it, no end in sight.
It’s been awhile…
Happy is a slippery word, and slipperier idea.
Never the means, and always a mirage of ends.
We thought it would wear a diamond ring, from the velvet hand of a man.
Or the baby, rolls on dimples, picture perfect for the applause of strangers.
The job, professional, and complete with brown bag lunches.
One, two, three, and then it’s gone. Happiness, like an August rain, blown out with the twilight colour.
So then happy. Not the ends, but a tangle of means. The means of contentment, of the changed heart, of the new eyes.
That person, the difficult. These times, the waiting.
Happy my heart. And happy any heart that learns it’s starting right now. Right here.
For the first time in months, I have a Thursday to sit in a cafe full of completely free time.
No computer work, no places to be, and I can’t help but study the moment to see where my attention turns. Facebook (no surprise), a few research questions I keep forgetting about…
And there it is, the itch to write.
I thought it was long-buried, probably under several seasons of some Netflix show. I gave over journaling many months back – but maybe I miss it more than I thought.
That feeling of free writing, letting those words roll, regardless of where they fall.
A friend asked me if I would be doing Nanowrimo again this year. Well no, not this year…but I have moments of hope that this possibility is not relegated to the category of never-never-goals.
Art is a tricky circus act, I find, as adult life progresses.
It’s important. There are stories to be told.
It’s vital. The art we’re given can not be ignored without snubbing that very part of us.
It’s doable. Excellence is important, but not as important as doing the best we can.
And it’s simple. All it takes is time.
So maybe on a Thursday afternoon or two this year, I’ll find the space to sit, be still and write all the nonsense.
Or maybe after all…this is just the coffee talking.
Note to self. This year…you should:
1) pray more, and pray well
2) get married without losing your cool
3) ask forgiveness, instead of saying “sorry”
4) grow more gray hairs
5) take walks
6) remember that thing called contentment? yeah – that.
7) eat a fresh fig
8) paint some walls
9) pay attention to all the words of a hymn
10) hold hands
11) read more poetry
12) think less about who you want to be, and more about who God is
13) make tiramisu
14) find a deodorant that actually works
15) learn to sit still
16) vacuum your bedroom every two weeks
17) write down the garbage thoughts, instead of speaking them
19) make a new friend
20) learn some knock knock jokes
21) eat a lot of greens and far less cake
22) compliment strangers
23) learn patience with the internet
24) encourage from Scripture rather than your own imagination
25) let go
“I see a woman may be made a fool, if she has not a spirit to resist.”
~William Shakespeare (my quote research was inspired by this book)