This is (some of) what’s been in the back of my mind this week:
I have not finished the a to z april blogging challenge because (as you know) all my posts disappeared with the wind (perhaps transforming into anti matter, I’ve really no idea) and I haven’t found the heart to re-write them (or at least W,X, Y,& Z – I did rewrite the others) quite yet.
I’m not certain why.
And though I had thought to participate in Story A Day May I’ve been rethinking this (and have appreciated your thoughts on the matter, during our late at night or in the midst of the day hiding beneath the blanket on my bedroom couch though I know you can see me discussions. And yes these discussions seem to be a lot me complaining and wondering and wandering and you whispering soft yet I seem to be able to hear you just fine above all racket I do make).
I’m thinking Story A Day May should, in my case, be instead As Many Words As Possible A Day May. Doesn’t that sound better? And perhaps I can post on my blog how things are going and what I’ve been up to and all those #100HappyDay posts which are a good thing as I feel positive you must agree.
Because it’s good to recognize all those happy things happening every day which most times we seem to ignore or pass by too quick. Like how there was just enough butter left to make cookies the other night though you and I both know I shouldn’t be eating cookies. Still I suppose grabbing up a spoonful of dough and nibbling it clean never killed anyone. (And here I think I’ll just blatantly ignore the entire raw egg controversy. I don’t seem to be able to stop liking that dough better than the finished all baked product).
The thing about the Happy Day posts, and blogging in general of late I find, is I seem to keep forgetting to do it.
I’ve always been a writer and I’ve been a blogger (the Dubious kind as we both know) for three years now, yet I still don’t have my own nationally syndicated column or cooking show on the food network and I’m thinking I never will.
And also (and I’d better whisper this low) that I really don’t want to.
(I’m whispering it low because I feel it’s something I shouldn’t be admitting to…)
Obviously, despite my ever advancing age and my flourishing growing up children and the people who tell me “Oh you’re so this and that” (all positive things. You’ve heard them.) I still falter uncertain upon my path on a pretty much daily (and oftimes hourly) basis and look up or around the corner and whisper your name. Saying Dear Jesus, what am I supposed to do now?
And if I shut up long enough and try and be patient (yes something I’m supposed to be working on I know, though heavens it’s hard) I can hear your voice so calm telling me to look in my heart and do what I know is right and glad and fulfilling.
And I am trying.
Still I need to ask, much more often than even I (who can be as transparent as wind without minding a bit) want to. Is this right? What should I be doing now? Because sometimes a heart is too full of Need To and Ought To and Want. So full of obligations, and service and loves, even inking them all down neat upon lined paper to prioritize isn’t working and tossing them into a basket to Pick One never could feel right.
So I fear I must tell you (and yeal I know you already know but I gotta say it anyway): I fear you’re going to be hearing me (yes huddled beneath that couch blanket) again and again for I just don’t know how long.
Hear me whispering Dear Jesus what am I supposed to do. Or, on those bad days, perhaps screeching it out while crouching in my closet clawing at my face a bit. Streaking back my hair with a shaking, uncertain hand, pounding upon hard tile with a bruised fist. Looking ahead and behind and ahead again wet eyed. Taking a deep breath as your hand upon my back calms me till my vision clears just enough to recognize one of those Happy Day moments again.
Till I see true it’s the words and deeds, actions and smiles which count most.
The blood on my knuckles, the tear in my eye, the lump in my throat, and all the days gone scattering behind and before, undulating, wavering outta sight and back again carrying me along this Wilderness Path whose stones and thorns are but minor inconveniences.
Someday I’ll be glancing back upon my meandering path with a heartfelt, satisfied, blessed smile. Knowing your steady hand upon my shoulder beckoning me forth. Not even having to push one bit.}