words & more words.

it's not about publishing. it's about writing.

it's about doing the thing that i always want to do and rarely feel i have time to actually do.

here i sit. 

finally.

finally.

letting the words flow in & out as they will.

 

and sometimes they don't.

 

i don't know if it's better than the alternative, but it 

speaks to my heart the way few things do.

 

parce que as flannery o'connor {and yes, i had to double check that it is, in fact, -or and not -er because sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. and the things that i think that i know leave me questioning.} said, "i don't know what i think until i see what i wrote."

 

my fall playlist fills the background. 

it has stayed on repeat since the day after labor day. 

it will continue as such until christmas music starts, or i get bored of it.

whichever comes first.

 

my coffee grows cold, but i keep it as an accessory on my desk. 

my mind skips. stops. starts. lurching around like the flitting of a dragonfly.

i would love to have a few more hours in this space. 

but would i really stay? would i really write for hours on end?

do i have that much to say?

and does it matter if it stays hidden inside for 

the rest of my days?

where do you find yourself on this 

miraculous thursday?

and do we hold the miracle of it 

carefully enough?

the perfectly formed spider web outside of my window.

the way the light slants through the trees on an autumn afternoon.

my son growing taller by the second

and learning to trust who he is becoming.

the way the steam rises off of coffee in the early morning.

journaling by twinkle lights.

do i yet understand what edgar {and shakespeare} told us in king lear

many years ago:

"thy life's a miracle. speak yet again."?

do i see clearly, or has the light in my soul grown dim and beaten down?

do i trust anything or anyone?

 

one of my daughters will play with my hair at night to prevent the inevitable onset of bedtime. 

i lie half-in, half-out of her bed. my legs draped over the side of the top bunk.

she plays with my hair and asks me questions. 

some deep ones, and some fleeting.

we look at the shadows her book light makes on the wall.

she grows like any child does. 

moment by moment, and all at once.

 

most days i feel as though i don't know how to stop time, but i have never found the knack for participating in it either. like i'm simply an observer instead of a participant. the second i start to think about whether or not i've figured out how to be present, then i no longer stand a chance of actually being present. i'm too distracted by the meta-narrative.

it's the ages-old, grade school problem. when you want something enough to turn and look it in the face, it flees from you. part of the having is the "je ne sais quoi" of it all. 

 

myla and i took a walk this morning. i left my phone behind, and moved out into the world. we slipped from the greenway into the woods and back again. i got lost in my thoughts and destroyed many spider webs with my face. she sniffed everything she could reach, stopping to intently search for squirrels along the way. 

my eyes grew heavy with tears that didn't make sense.

 

some days i get overwhelmed by the world. when i stop to look around at everything that i know about that is happening across this earth, it grows heavy so quickly. 

because it is. 

and it makes me feel small. 

because i am. 

 

but it's not about me. 

and it's also not up to me.

 

every time i remember that, 

it makes it easier to live and breathe and move. 

and to keep going while the world falls apart.

 

i will not save the world. 

the savior of this world already came,

and he will come again.

he is faithful & just.

he is trustworthy & true.

HE holds the world in his hands.

and his hands are big enough to hold all of the pieces.

and to redeem the brokenness of it all.

 

that is the hope that we have.

nothing more.

but nothing less.

xoxo