Have you ever tried meditation? What did you think about? How did you feel? What did God show you about yourself? About Him? We'd love to hear about your experience!
There's one kid running naked, protesting against the shower I'm trying to muscle him into. The other one knows better than to flee by foot, and unintentionally continues to smear black goo across the bathroom floor. He stayed to clean the mess they'd just made together. Grandma left her mascara in the guest bathroom and well, the rest is history. The dog's barking and darts in and out of my legs as I walk. Not even able to hear my own thoughts, I run back and forth between the two crime scenes a couple of times, uncertain about where to begin.
I own exactly four unfinished journals. They sit stoic (and a little bit dusty) on my office bookshelf. The idea of journaling is idyllic to me, but the reality is much less fantastic. I'd begin with a vigor - writing down thoughts and prayers, pulling scripture, and becoming astounded by the sneak peaks of grace that God allows.
And after a while, they'd sit.
My Dad's got this saying that he pulls out when he wants to call somebody a know-it-all without saying as much. "She's sure gotta lot of answers right now," he'll comment with a shake of the head. I grin on the inside thinking about it. I know for a fact that he's said that about me at some point or another. I don't think any of us actually realize when we're being know-it-alls until after the fact. In recognition that I'm the first person in the guilty-as-charged line, I present:
How to know when you've "gotta lot of answers." (Goofy sarcasm intended)
The workout got the best of me. New to the gym and programming, my time was the slowest out of my entire group. Chest heaving up and down and hands on my hips, pride died right there next to me in a pool of sweat. That day, we were required to complete a combination of running, wall balls, and box jumps while being timed. “I don’t run,” I remember mentioning to the trainer as the starting bell sounded. I ran anyway. It wasn’t pretty.
I can’t stop wiggling in my seat. Continuing education day. Facts ring in my ears and I want nothing more than to run home and hug my kids. The information just keeps coming:
I catch my four-year-old rifling through the wooden, oak-stained, memory box that my Grandpa Charlie made for me years ago. Pictures litter the carpet as he immerses himself in the parts of my life he's yet to understand. "You have so much memory in here, Mommy."
Withdrawal. I'm aching for the weird that I left in a trail of exhaust just 48 hours ago. This week my word-loving, big faith, and question-everything kind of weird was in good company. Life gets pretty lonely if we don't connect with like-minded others. Having pulled onto the interstate to head back home to my post-conference reality, I sensed that I was missing the peculiar already. Yearning even...
The water is 85 degrees but the air is cool. Parents line the pool deck with sweatshirts and towels draped tightly over their shoulders to cut the wind. None of the kids seem to notice as they giggle their way through swim practice. They're immune to cold at this age. A parent catches my attention as she begins to get a little loud in her attempts to usher her daughter to the dressing room to change clothes.
Hey Gritty Guys and Gals!
I'm taking this week as an opportunity to check on YOU!
When was the last time somebody asked you what you thought, and actually held still long enough to hear the answer? As I gear up for a fabulous few days away at an upcoming writer's conference, I'm filled with gratitude for the past year a half that I've spent talking with all of you. I'm reminded that YOUR voices are the ones that drive me to keep writing.