Today, the hours passed more quickly than I anticipated and with each passing hour I became more and more acutely aware that these words had not been written and this post had not been done and my mind was moving in too many directions to rein in for more than a few moments. Some days are like that. Some days you love the people in your life and the choices are obvious but not cataloged, but you want them to be. So, as the later-than-usual breakfast-for-dinner foods cook on the stove and in the oven, my fingers are flying across this keyboard in an effort to capture the words passing through my consciousness before they disappear.
This reminds me of a story shared by Elizabeth Gilbert in her book, Big Magic, about a poet named Ruth Stone. Apparently, according to Gilbert, Stone relayed the manner by which she often sensed a poem approaching her while she worked in the fields of her family’s farm. Stone said when she became aware of the poem, she would race to the house trying to stay ahead of the poem, grab paper and pencil and get the words dashed down on the page before the poem headed off in search of someone else because she missed its arrival. I have always loved this story and often marvel at the way words seem to hover in the air around me or in my mind, waiting for me to write them, forming them from ambiguous ideas into concrete images and word pictures.
This is one such time when those words are ripe for the harvest for me, and I am grateful. Having spent a day in acts of service, meeting the needs of my teenagers on what I can only describe as an off day, I have considered this post and its words. Even more, I have considered the message of love I get to share each day with the world (or at least the 6 or 7 people who read these posts). Because at least one of those people who reads these words is my 17 year old, I feel a deep honor and opportunity whenever I show up to this keyboard.
And today, like Ruth Stone, I am aware of the words for this post swirling around me, around my head, around my feet, like leaves carried on the wind along a path in the woods, the words make their way toward me gently, yet with a persistent force that nudges my mind in the right direction, reminding me of the ways I love my teenagers and their hearts.
Sometimes, on days that are a bit off, they are concerned more about me, about my efforts to care for them. But there is a hint of sickness or allergies for the older teenager and some anxiety in the younger. And so I have opted for homemade soup and a favorite movie and a slower pace. Yes, we did school reading. But other than that, the day has been about warm baths and homemade chicken soup and resting and reading and watching Bohemian Rhapsody in parts. I have appreciated our slower pace and I have enjoyed the opportunity to create space for rest for each of them. They don’t always recognize how much I want to take care of them, to make the food they need or to help them run a bath. Sure, there can be some grumbling by me when I’ve stood in the kitchen for too long; but as I try to tell them, it’s more about my own body’s weariness than the actual making of the food that sparks my annoyance.
Whatever that has looked like today, I have enjoyed taking the day to slow us down and do life together in the way we needed. I have enjoyed the chopping and the sautéing and making of soup. I have liked sitting on the couch watching Bohemian Rhapsody, all three of us reveling in the music and presence of Freddie Mercury on the screen. I have relaxed into the tasks I needed to do albeit at the slower pace. I am convinced that days like these are a blessing; they are God’s way of whispering to me that it’s okay to do less and revel more in my teenagers, even when we are not quite in reveling form. There is what Elizabeth Gilbert refers to as Big Magic in the small moments in our shared lives and today that magic was on full display for me.