The sky is white this morning and outside the leaves of the maple sway to invisible music. The weatherman tells me showers are on the way but all I need do is step outside and taste the wind to know this. Rain is my love language with God—the steady unspooling of the sky always comes as invitation to burrow deep into his heart.
I am trying to let go of worry but sometimes it ambushes me. The calendar is filling up quickly and all I want to do is sit and study the sky. I was remembering yesterday how, as children, we would hold our arms out and twirl and twirl until we fell down from the dizzy. Now I avoid that wavery feeling of out-of-balance as much as possible. How was falling down ever fun?
I keep remembering Teddy’s first day of kindergarten. Jeffrey was only three and he and I were driving past the grade school in the middle of the day. There was a lot of road construction and traffic came to a dead stop with our minivan square in front of West Teays Elementary. Suddenly, I looked over at the building and realized my baby boy was in there; that for the first time in his life I had no idea what he was doing, or thinking, or feeling.
I said a prayer for him, for me, right then and there, in the middle of that traffic. Out loud. Little Jeffrey piped up from the back seat, “Hey! You can’t pway in the cawr!”
“Oh, honey,” I said. “You can pray anywhere. Any time. All the time.”
I’ve been praying a lot.
At night, I take Jeff’s hand and we pray for our boy together. We pray for our family. If we do things right, change is a certainty in life. This is part of our design. How can we grow without changing seasons? Outside, the first red colors of fall are kindling the fires of my heart. I feel I might burst into flame any moment. This dance of flames is not unlike the twirling I did as a girl—the tizzy, the dizzy, the danger … Do I trust that gentle hands will hold me if I fall? Will I laugh as I the flames lick my ankles; will I delight in letting go of control?
I am learning to walk through this strange out-of-balance feeling. I am learning to open my hands and let joy fill them, even as I still carry that soft ache of missing the days when my name was forever on their lips.
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