Hello Sunday afternoon!
I am so glad to be sitting in the midst of your invitation to rest.
Carl and I have assumed the position, our feet propped on
matching ottomans, he with newspaper in hands and me letting
my fingertips meet lettered keys.
Slowly I am learning to pay attention to my responses and my reactions.
I have been aware but not always willing to examine.
Saturday began with soccer.
Steve and Monica, faithful soccer lovers and friends came
to watch the game.
It was good to visit and hear their comments about how the team had
progressed over the last couple years.
If they had not taken time on busy Saturdays to come and watch little
boys in cleats and shin guards, they wouldn’t notice change or growth.
There is a particular richness to sharing our highs and lows and continuing to stick to one another.
It is vital, like an inhale and exhale.
Yet despite beholding the precious, my mind can split.
I carefully calculated that once the game ended we
would have a few hours for lunch and prep for **Caleb’s spy party.
What I didn’t know was that Caleb would be asked to play in the second game with
the other half of his team.
We visited a bit more with Steve and Monica and they biked home.
My mind continued to percolate.
As I watched Caleb play goalie and dive and crash to the ground and jam his back into
the goal post, my mind thought,
“Great, today is the day that Caleb will break his arm!”
I read recently that it is much easier to rehearse calamity.
There in the midst of blue skies, sunshine, laughter and cheers,
I was deciding what could mar the scene.
I took a deep breath and decided to cheer instead.
The spy party was a hit.
8 and 9-year-old boys by nature are a blast, we just
added a theme.
I promised Monica a few pictures of spy training day.
(Please note that due to the nature of this party,
the other trainees are not pictured for fear that
their identities might fall into the wrong hands.
Caleb is a master of disguise and has agreed to take
this risk for the sake of his spy mom’s blog.)
My days begin with a list I desire to cross off
one by one,
item by item
task by task.
those items won’t be obliterated
by a line through their existence.
Perhaps those are the days to say a cheer
instead of speaking calamity into the air.
Those are the days to pay attention to whether your
spirit is whispering darkness or light.
Maybe on one of those days, when the fun is wrapping up
and your fuel tank is low,
someone might just bring you a bouquet.
Or maybe you might choose to be the one to bring
flowers to one who is fading.
All because you paid attention.