Thursday, February 22, 2007

Life comes at me fast

It's not that I don't think about blogging. I think about it every day. It's not that I don't have anything to write about. My mind and heart are full of stories and incidents to share, both uplifting and sorrowful. It's just that life is coming at me and flying past me fast.

Last Saturday, I went to the early morning prayer service at church and then gave a talk to the women in the Spanish congregation about friendship, love, and how to love one another as sisters in the faith. Then Daniel had a basketball game and we watched two other games after that. Then it was dinner, walking the dog, getting ready for church and for bed.

Sunday was church, out to lunch with a couple of friends. Home to listen to Kristiana's account of her weekend away at camp. Back to church for the evening service. Then some family time. Off to bed.

Steve was off from work on Monday, but we had a few errands to run as a family. And since it's so rare for us to have an entire day together, I focused on hanging out with them and not sitting at the computer. Kristiana had horseback riding that afternoon, so I was off to the barn with her. Steve and Daniel went up to Davidson College to watch a men's basketball game.

Tuesday and Wednesday are a blur. Oh yeah, homeschooling, a trip to the supermarket, cooking, cleaning, talking on the telephone, beginning to prepare for a women's retreat I will be leading in April, walking the dog, teaching the journaling class at church, to a lecture on the jazz of the Harlem Renaissance, taking the children to a photographic exhibit of musicians from the Harlem Renaissance, plus times of prayer, journaling, reading, and exercise in between.

It's not that I haven't learned a lot during all of this or been dazzled and amazed by the wonder that is this life I live. I have stood in silent awe in our backyard looking up at the bare trees and marveling at the many bushes and trees that remain green year-round. I could see my breath in the early hours of the day - as well as fresh, bright young daffodils bursting to life in spite of the cold morning air. I watched Maya lift her head to breathe in the many scents around us and wished I could smell what she smelled. I wondered what tunes the birds were singing to one another and to The One who created them. I listened to the children in one of the backyards that faces ours and wondered what stories they were telling one another. Then one burst into loud, fretful cries, and my curiosity was piqued even more.

In the library where I perused the shelves for something, anything that caught my interest, I saw the husband of a dear friend, a friend who is suffering with a very serious cancer, reading. I didn't disturb him, but I prayed for them both. I prayed for my friend, whose hair and physical strength are gone, and whose only prayer request is that she be able to keep her eyes on God throughout this ordeal. I came home with a book called The Art of Kissing. I look forward to testing a few of the recommended techniques on my work-weary huband.

I have spent a lot of time this week on the telephone. Listening. Praying silently. One friend whose husband is refusing dialysis. No more, he says. No more. An aunt who is refusing a second open-heart surgery. No more, she says. No more. One friend whose mother is on life support, and she and her siblings must decide what to do now. Two friends who find themselves in dark, lonely marriages. One whose child is inexplicable ill. Friends of friends who are suffering, afraid, and alone.

I receive email updates about a local homeschooling family of nine whose husband/father hasn't been able to find a job in more than nine months. As I stand at the kitchen counter, chopping, slicing, and dicing food for our meals every day, I pray for her, for the mother, because I cannot imagine who fearful she must be of not having enough food to feed her seven children. Then I am reminded again of the countless mothers around the world who go to bed every night and listen to their hungry children cry out in pain. I stand at my counter, knife in hand, and weep for them all. I pray the only thing that I can, "Lord, have mercy." Later, I call my children into the kitchen for an extra hug and tell them I love them. They don't even ask why. They know me.

My heart is full. My mind is full. My life is full.
I am filled to overflowing.
And I am thankful.

Thankful for this house that protects us and all our stuff, keeping us warm and dry.

For the bountiful food we eat.

For fresh water to drink and bathe in.

For the opportunity to be a mother and to homeschool my children.

For an encouraging and understanding husband, who encourages us to get out for more field trips, to read and write more, to play outside daily, to live this life we have to the fullest.

For his willingness to work so hard in order to support this wonder-filled life we live.

For his sports-loving spirit: this past weekend, he made arrangements for himself and Daniel to go to Florida for another father-son baseball spring training trip. (I won't lie; sometimes I wish he didn't love sports as much as he does, but when I see how much he loves to share his love of sports with his son, I forgive him for making me a weekend sports-widow.)

For life and health and the strength to live fully, abundantly, and joyfully each day.

It's not that I haven't thought about blogging.
I think about it every day.
It's just that life has been coming at me so fast of late, I haven't made the time.

But all is well. All is well. All manner of things shall be well.

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