Today I am Writing: On Belonging to the Living

I am sitting on my porch, waiting for a phone call. I am staring at my pretty car, and I smell like baby.

I have been away, visiting my old friend and changing the lives of three very wonderful children. I had a lovely time, but I have to tell you the truth: It is good to be home.

My new car and I hit the road from my friend's Virginia home on Saturday, stopping at nearly every random antique spot and farmer's market we could find, until we pulled into the cottage drive. And then I spent Sunday, introverting. I had church on the porch, I read by the pond, I walked around the town. In between these things, I put things away, I made some food, I cleaned up a lot of bird poop.

Yes, bird poop. Armed with a bottle of soap-water, rags, and my watering can, I enlisted in the constant battle of cottage life: Cleaning bird poop off of the chairs. When I was finished, I came around the corner, rag still in hand, to notice that a bird had plopped some poop right there on the hood of my car, the one I'd run through the car wash upon my return to town.

I marched myself right over, and I began to wipe in earnest. I stepped back to admire my handiwork only to notice a labryinth of little scratches, just where my rag had been. My shiny pretty car had received its first bruising, and at my hands.

"Oops," I thought. And then I thought: "I guess it really belongs to me now," and I felt a little warmth grow up in my heart.

Today I dove back into work, into taking care of life. My up-the-street friend texted to say she was alone with the baby for dinner; did I want to come over? While she whipped herself an omelet, the babe and I cuddled, her little head all happy just up against my chest. My friend and I stood talking, noting how sweetly our girl was smiling. And then, as if on cue, that sweet little thing pulled her dainty head backward and shot a ball of soupy spit, directly down the interior of my dress.

I laughed, I wiped myself up. My friend was so sorry, but I was not; instead I felt as if I was claimed, belonging in the life of this little one for good.

Because here is a lesson I am learning: A cottage is not a cottage, without a little poop. And to take the scratches right with the shiny, to take the cuddles right with the curdled milk, is to live and fully live. Belonging, to the awe of it.

A Special Friday: Roaming Virginia

[When you are done Piano Camping but still have a day with your friend.]

From Friday to Friday, 6

[When whatever ends up on my phone, ends up here.]

To Celebrate 95

 ["Great is thy faithfulness"]

Today I am Writing: On the Day

Yesterday was one of those days with back-to-back written all over my calendar.  Flinging myself from here to there, I circled the planet that is this town, from appointments to meetings to children arriving for their lessons.

Somewhere at the beginning of it I looked up the mountain at all that was planned, and I nearly crumbled at the thought of it: How would I survive it? Where was my quiet? My thinking space? My gurgling pond and my steadied heart?

And then I heard the whisper of Wisdom, curling over the breeze. "Just give yourself to it," she said. "Give yourself to the day."

And so I did, encountering each moment with generosity, with open mind open heart open arms. And it was full of peace. It was full of joy. It was full of refreshing streams.

It was full of my heart, full.

From Friday to Friday, 5

[When whatever ends up on my phone, ends up here.]