so i gave it up for a bit. and in the mornings i sat on the kitchen counter in the dark and thought about the day. and in the evenings, i took long walks to mom and dad's and didn't think about that blue light beckoning me from my little red desk.
but as it always does, the need to write was uncompromising. the need to put words to this heart stirring. so hi! as much as i truly want to, i can't promise my posts won't be sporadic until december. until i can finally slay one of those beasts by donning an oversized black cape and square hat with tassle. i'll stomp on him in my heels as i walk across the creaky old stage in the church where graduation is held.
what i've noticed on my time away is this: there is a sacredness to free time. there is a deliberate holiness to how we choose to spend those minutes, hours or entire, blessed days that are ours for the filling. and somewhere between the supper dishes in the sink, the tennis ball thrown down the short corridor between the bathroom and the bedroom for the hundredth time to a pup who never seems to tire, the refilling of the coffee cup, the wine glass, and the water bottle, the opening of a new book just to fall asleep against the cool cotton, and the conversation that starts small between family around an antique supper table then mushrooms into guffaws and shouts of hilarity and smiles that say i know you and love you all the same, we find God.
because it's not just in the opening of the Bible or the fellowship between believers or the late-night prayers whispered up from the depths of the covers that we engage in this way. it is entered into, often unintentionally, by the simple act of living. when we reveal our truest self in that split second we aren't trying to pretend to be someone else. when, for even the briefest of glimpses, we let that shell crack. when the lipstick is off and the bangs are pushed back and the old t-shirt emerges.
it is there that we remember, oh yes. this is who i was. this is who i am. and Lord help me, this is who i want to always be.