Signs of Life
I want to blog.
Really, I do.
I just get so busy living that I forget to write.
I've had some days off this week and have been completely consumed with the business of my house and my family. Yet again.
I have had enough volunteer-related goals to accomplish that I seriously believe that I could be a full time volunteer and still not have enough hours in my day to get the jobs done.
At the end of the day, though, it's back to work for me tomorrow and I'll work right through all of the Holy days of Easter this year. Instead of lifting my heart to pass praises on Sunday, I will be lifting my hands to pass pills to the tender souls under my care. I really will try to reflect on the sobriety of Good Friday, but I'm pretty sure that I'll have to work hard at just remembering to cross off all the things on my to-do list during my shift. It's a "cross" of a different sort.
And so, today, I look around my house and try not to be overwhelmed by the attention that it needs. As the snow has been melting and giving us hope that new life is on its way, I'm looking around the floor of my house, acknowledging that my family's clutter is a sign of life too.
The mud-caked long board and penny board are a sign that one young man and his Sam hit the streets Sunday night and she learned how to long board in the dusky hours of a March evening. They came back to the house with rosy cheeks and runny noses and big smiles - adventure is cool.
The oversized stuffed Easter bunny brought out for an Easter display, laying topsy turvy by the front entrance, reminds me of another lad who has always believed that all stuffies were meant to be hugged and it reminds me that you never outgrow giving a stuffy a good stiff hug.
Slippers by the comfy chair point to the man who rises early in the mornings to get to work to provide for his family and who firmly believes that his early rising shouldn't disturb the rest of the family and so he dresses in the living room so as to not wake anyone else unnecessarily.
The towel on the floor by the dining room table? Brought out to dry the feet of the one who sees no need to wait for a dry cement pad to bounce that basketball a million times on the ground before supper.
Drum sticks in his stick bag that seldom leaves the front entry - probably 20-30 pair - yeah, each set is important, unique, tried and true, tested, well used. Researched. Some are just 2 drum sessions away from breaking. I notice the muted mallets don't show as much wear as I'd like. I smile.
My photo album from the '70s sits on a chair, waiting to be returned to the shelf, reminding me of my history, my family, and the new fresh relationships that are growing there. Now that we're all middle aged girls, we're drawn to each other like moths to the light. Blood matters.
Dirty dishcloths waiting to be washed, endless pairs of shoes waiting to be worn, new pants bought to replace the outgrown ones....
Praying that the Easter season brings you reminders of new life
Really, I do.
I just get so busy living that I forget to write.
I've had some days off this week and have been completely consumed with the business of my house and my family. Yet again.
I have had enough volunteer-related goals to accomplish that I seriously believe that I could be a full time volunteer and still not have enough hours in my day to get the jobs done.
At the end of the day, though, it's back to work for me tomorrow and I'll work right through all of the Holy days of Easter this year. Instead of lifting my heart to pass praises on Sunday, I will be lifting my hands to pass pills to the tender souls under my care. I really will try to reflect on the sobriety of Good Friday, but I'm pretty sure that I'll have to work hard at just remembering to cross off all the things on my to-do list during my shift. It's a "cross" of a different sort.
And so, today, I look around my house and try not to be overwhelmed by the attention that it needs. As the snow has been melting and giving us hope that new life is on its way, I'm looking around the floor of my house, acknowledging that my family's clutter is a sign of life too.
The mud-caked long board and penny board are a sign that one young man and his Sam hit the streets Sunday night and she learned how to long board in the dusky hours of a March evening. They came back to the house with rosy cheeks and runny noses and big smiles - adventure is cool.
The oversized stuffed Easter bunny brought out for an Easter display, laying topsy turvy by the front entrance, reminds me of another lad who has always believed that all stuffies were meant to be hugged and it reminds me that you never outgrow giving a stuffy a good stiff hug.
Slippers by the comfy chair point to the man who rises early in the mornings to get to work to provide for his family and who firmly believes that his early rising shouldn't disturb the rest of the family and so he dresses in the living room so as to not wake anyone else unnecessarily.
The towel on the floor by the dining room table? Brought out to dry the feet of the one who sees no need to wait for a dry cement pad to bounce that basketball a million times on the ground before supper.
Drum sticks in his stick bag that seldom leaves the front entry - probably 20-30 pair - yeah, each set is important, unique, tried and true, tested, well used. Researched. Some are just 2 drum sessions away from breaking. I notice the muted mallets don't show as much wear as I'd like. I smile.
My photo album from the '70s sits on a chair, waiting to be returned to the shelf, reminding me of my history, my family, and the new fresh relationships that are growing there. Now that we're all middle aged girls, we're drawn to each other like moths to the light. Blood matters.
Dirty dishcloths waiting to be washed, endless pairs of shoes waiting to be worn, new pants bought to replace the outgrown ones....
.....if I don't let it overwhelm me as "mess".....
....I think I might find strength in it as .....
SIGNS OF LIFE
Praying that the Easter season brings you reminders of new life
.........of the deepest sort.
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