Thoughts

Sunday afternoon I watched this short film about a life with singular purpose. His goal was to recreate a flavor from his childhood, and in the process he crafted a unique place for himself in this world. He sleeps in a tiny cabin built on the roof of his business, writes ideas and plans into little notebooks, carves away fins with surgical precision. I ache to carve away excess in my life, to find my singular purpose.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/VaDTv4mP2j4 The fourth downpour of the day outside my home office window. I am a lead writer on a proposal due soon, so most of my words are aimed at my work life right now.

Little Rock, Arkansas is not a friendly city at night, so you must wrap yourself around your craft cocktail at the hotel bar and not move around too much. My tiny and withered arms pulled together great slabs of lumber and leveled compost. Seedlings are pushing toward light, waiting in starter containers for their true planting. I found God’s Word lying in green grass, covered in dew, and brought it home. The stranger’s handwriting looked out of place in my kitchen full of familiar. ...

Spent the morning with my loves at a cozy coffee shop in Arlington. I wrote in my journal about 2013, about my hopes for renewal and rebirth. My girl began writing in her tiny purple Moleskine, too. Tonight we will light candles, share our writings and craft a family vision for this year to come. Then we will pop popcorn and play a game, and then we will blow out the candles and nestle down into our covers. And when we wake, it will be a new year.

I slip outside with my camera, leaving behind the chatting and smiling that always makes me self-conscious, uncomfortable, embarrassed. I walk the property line, trailed by dragonflies, and stoop down to touch soft mosses and strange willowy seed pods. I descend to the culvert to look for frogs, but the heat has shrunken their pond to a puddle where a lone tadpole circles, believing himself to be the only of his kind.

I’m staying cocooned in my home this week, working through each little pain and complication of last week’s surgery. The pain brings clarity of focus, and I find myself considering small details, like the banding on this teeny hand-thrown vase, for long moments.

Surgery is over. I’m filled with gratitude for surviving, and I’m also in a lot of pain. Friends have been so kind, bringing flowers and meals, and my best friend has been at my side every minute. I will be in bed for a little while longer but have some good reads to keep me company.

“…and being in an agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground.” ~ Luke 22:44 I clear the dinner plates from the table, pile them into the sink and begin to rinse them off when the crushing weight of remembering hits me again, making my heart thump heavy. In three days my mind will know nothing. The night before, I lay curled on our bed, weeping, terrible fear smothering reason. I asked John what happens to our souls when we are under anesthesia. He pulled wet ribbons of hair off of my cheeks and said our souls sleep, honey, we just go to sleep so we don’t feel pain. ...