A post that ends with grace.
Send out your light and our truth, that they may lead me, and bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling.
The blogging life is the weirdest. Most days, I post something and hope that my mood and my hormones and my common sense all collide with my inner artist and that something beautiful is waiting on the screen for all the readers who will come and listen.
Other times, I realize I let my Crazy out and now everyone knows. Of course, I’ve warned you that she (my Crazy) has always been underneath all the rest of it too. But usually I keep her in her proper (secret) place
But, I want to be honest around here. I want to tell you what’s real in me (as much as I can comprehend it. Who really knows the depths of her own mind, right?) So, yesterday, if it seemed like an anxious pecking bird had shown up instead of Micha, I hope you’ll find that encouraging. We are all anxious birds pecking at something sometimes. All of us hide the Crazy.
Yesterday morning, I woke up with my husband at 4:30 as he gathered his things for his 6:45 flight to San Francisco for work for the next couple of days. I tried to sleep again but it didn’t work and, sure enough, Brooksie was up by 6 anyway. He has a cold and fever and we sat together on the couch drinking milk and coffee, respectively.
Then, I got to work. I had to finish packing. (Yes, packing, again.) This time for a brief visit to my parents, as a sort of “one last fling” while I live in Texas. Also, I want some quality time with my grandmother (who lost my grandfather a little over a month ago), before it’s a lot more difficult to visit.
We rode in planes today, my boys and I. They are such pros at airplanes. August stared out the window and we counted from the moment of acceleration until the plane actually lifted off. (It’s 30 seconds, by the way. It’s always 30 seconds and we count every time.)
I got to Amarillo exhausted and thankful to sit in my parents’ house in the rocking chair, watching the boys find their favorite grandparent toys, only getting up to wipe Brooksie’s snotty nose.
I read your comments in that rocking chair. I read all your kind words about soul care and why I don’t have to defend myself or live in guilt.
Oh, friends. How often to I have to hear those things to believe them? Yes, I believe in soul care. I believe guilt wants to chomp my heart out with its big, angry teeth (and I don’t have to let it!). I believe that I don’t need to prove anything and that what people think of me should not hold the place of honor it tends to hold in my chest.
At the airport, while August ran along the sun warmed window shooting invisible powers out of his hands (at unsuspecting travelers) and Brooksie squatted deep in thought as he watched those tiny cars load suitcases and drag them from plane to plane outside the window, I discovered a voicemail from Molly. She had called to give me a pep talk. “Trust me,” she said. “Italy will change your life. Of course you should be doing this!”
And I sighed a good sigh and gathered the little boys and our packed stroller of stuff into the corner as the file of plane-fillers began snaking toward the airplane’s open door.
Send out your light and truth, I read (then prayed) this morning while Brooksie and I sat on the couch together. That they may lead me. To be led by light and truth. For those good sisters to take the path ahead of me.
Sometimes in my weakest moments, in my most guilt-ridden, most anxiously-centered places, I think the holy hill, the dwelling, is waiting for me when I finally get it together. When I finally improve myself to a place where weakness holds no power over me.
But, the holy hill is up ahead. God’s good light and truth? They’re leading me because of my weaknesses. Light and truth are leading because I can’t see without them. They’re leading me to the holy hill, not because it’s my own doing. But because when I couldn’t make sense of the dark, they arrived: Bright hope.
Here we are again. A post about grace. Of course we are here: a post that starts with Crazy and ends with Grace.