September Seventeenth

                  The days somehow feel shorter and longer, together: an oxymoron. This morning the sky is a soft blue, unrimmed by clouds or light. The earth lies in shadow. Trees and leaves and plants and grass are utterly stilled, bowed and reverent before the holiness of morning and the anger of a storm miles away.

                  I woke this morning, marveling at how quiet it was. Usually by half past six the kids are up and playing hard. The house was dark, dark like 4:30 AM kind of dark. But no, the glow of my phone read 6:25, and while my room was shades of black and my bed was calling my name, the rumble of the storm made my soul feel more awake and aware, somehow.

                  I want to find my life here, in my home, where I'm at, with whom I’m with. I know that it’s hard to find a home here and be rooted when I'm always grasping to do, to go, to get away, to adventure: but sometimes I think the gold of life is right here before me, with the people I love.

                  I start listing out things I love about my life:

                  Strawberries. And planning to get donuts to surprise the family, only to hear that my dad had the same idea. The wet sky.  Jacket, soft sweater sort of days. Sleepy eyes and soft kisses and laughter.

                  Today is a good day. The warmth of Bailey pressed up against my leg reminds me of that: that I’m alive, I’m here, and I have all I could ever need or want.

                  I feel like sometimes this culture keeps pressing us and screaming at us in a million silent ways to go, go, go. To do. To adventure and go far away, like somehow “that’s what makes life special and what makes it count” and all that jazz. I think it’s so important to live here in the present, even when my feelings aren’t all jittery and I’m not on a high of excitement, living in the blur of newness.

                  I want to learn how to lean into the familiarity of these days, the rhythm that steams from the Tuesdays and Saturday mornings and the Sunday nights at church. Someday, yes, I want to travel. I’m going to travel. But I want to make sure that my desire for travel doesn’t stem from a need to “escape”, escape from the “mundane” and the rhythm around me.

                  The rhythm of today was really beautiful, actually. The entire day was musky and cloudy, grey with streaks of blue. Rain spattered across all the windowpanes. ChickFila lemonade. Hard, full laughter with my brother. A slow morning spent in books at bookstores. Warm cookies. Chocolate streaks on my fingers. Fresh, homemade bread, swept again and again through a puddle of honey on the edge of my plate. Playing on the piano and singing.

                  Life is so good, dear friends. Even when we sit staring at our screens wishing and clawing for a life that can never be ours, life is good.