five minutes: growing

Growing.

It's never easy. Is it meant to be? I wish it were.

Stretching, filling uncomfortable unknown spaces. Reaching outward, away from the familiar. 

Becoming.

Bearing.

Birthing.

That's the point of it: to reproduce. To give life. It's never static, ever changing; this cycle of growth: birth, life, death. I carry in the marrow of my bones the weight of countless generations gone before, carry the possibility of those yet to come.

Unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it can not grow.

This fragile state, this life, this gift.

the last day of summer.

The rain today is making me feel melancholy. I want to write a poem... images flit through my head, but the words won't come. I am mute, filled with vague longing.

sun.

Today I'm being deliberate... intentional... about enjoying this sky. I must not take for granted what I will rarely see in the next few months.
Soon autumn will be here, and with it comes months of greyness and rain. It's hard to believe, on those days, that the sky is blue and the sun is shining.
So today, I revel in this blue. This warmth.

beauty on this day.

sunshine. shadows.

pottery

Yesterday I brought home all of the pottery that I made in my first 6-week class session... a bowl that collapsed, three wonky mugs, a wee handle-less pitcher, an ugly pot, and a flat shallow bowl that looks like it has a nipple in the middle of it... I had so much fun making them all!! And every five minutes or so, I'm compelled to point out to anyone in the immediate vicinity that "I made pottery!"

five minutes: rest

Sometimes it sneaks up on me, this need, this compulsion, and my eyes close in spite of myself and I rest. I rest, and everything fades, and there is just me, cradled, comforted, healed.

Sometimes I plan ahead, and there is a nest, and I cocoon myself, shut the world out. I make space, and I rest.

More often than not, though, the voices persist. Conversations with myself. Plans. Needs. But how about...? And then...? Or what if...?

I have, at times, envied the monastics. It seems that it would be easier to be still and just focus on God, when you are living a life that is set apart.

I have, however, chosen a different life. A life that includes a husband. Kids. Homeschooling. Cooking. Cleaning. Interminable laundry.

I need to learn how to stop the cacophony that exists in my head. Learn to be still. To wait. To listen. Learn to really rest in the midst of all that needs to be done.

picture this

 Beauty.
This morning.