I arrived to this space with an apology for not writing.
Except that would not be accurate, I am always writing.
I write in my journal and on random slips of paper,
jotting notes in the margins of books and tapping sentences into my phone.
Words arises from the steam of my shower or the soft indent
in my pillow before succumbing to sleep.
Sometimes my thoughts compose a post while driving to work.
Perhaps I should curb this practice for safety’s sake.
Often I will open a notebook and find scribbles and arrows,
circles and sentences all in CAPS.
As I scan the page, a grin will pass over my face
and at the top of the hieroglyphics I will usually
write “this became the blog post” and fill in the title.
Somehow parts jotted all over the paper
became a map that directed the way to a published post.
My mind has felt like one of those pages of scribbles.
The exception being many of the dots are without
There are a half-dozen half-written pieces in my
They may or may not ever see the light of a computer
screen other than mine.
For whatever reason, I can’t seem to finish the majority
of my writing.
I can’t figure out what to make for dinner.
There is lonely dirt by the fence where my
sunflowers usually ascend to the sky.
I can’t seem to finish a book. (Ack.)
Although I plan for the drought to end this week.
(I started reading this book on the road last weekend
and it is giving me so much to think about as a parent.)
My mind has been swimming with work,
a daughter graduating from college,
middle school decisions
for our son and a steady stream of bad news.
Somehow the joyous mingled with the sorrow
siphons away anything extraneous.
It has bothered me,
I have fought it and
been frustrated when I can’t concentrate
on a litany of pursuits.
Then I reflect on January, when I chose words
to help guide my year.
Elisabeth Eliot’s constant encouragement
“Do the next thing.”
Two sentences which will remind me
to breathe and take each aspect of
life one by one and as it comes.
Are your dots connecting?
Do you need to just keep faithfully
walking into the places laid before you?
I will work.
I will celebrate.
I will mourn with those who mourn.
I will listen and not look away.
I will cook.
I will write.
I will read.
Sometimes I will simply just be.
Most of all I will be faithful.
Today it meant pressing publish.
Alright I did read one sweet book awhile ago which could be finished
over a weekend with a bottomless frosted glass of iced tea…
The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry.