In the morning
sitting with a blank page
a black BIC pen
journal folded in half
writing on the flat side
plump cursive
often forgetting to dot i
or cross t
“You write so slowly,” she said once.
I’ve thought about that comment many times over the years,
only now feeling grateful,
instead of criticized,
I am writing at all.
I have so many writing ideas when there’s no time to write.
Truly, I have ever so much more to say once upon a work day, and despite my whenever I have day off intentions, I hardly ever follow through. I’ve netted many a willow wisp of an idea in the hour or so before my shift starts, but I live onward in the day and in the days after that without looking back to whatever thought I captured.
I have to believe if I had something important to say, I couldn’t help myself but say it.
Still, ideas I’ve left unexplored feel like hopes neglected and a voice – my voice – ignored.
I’ll need to meet myself face-to-face at this intersection of what I say I want and walking what I talk.
I wonder why the commitments to myself are those I’m least likely to honor?
Hope is hardy though, especially and always in spring. If ever there was a time for new growth, this is it.
So look for me nestled … and writing … among the branches of the forsythia, anticipating the bloom of the lilac, my words, and me.
When I awoke this morning, two complaints I remembered from the day before perched on my lips like two plump robins ready to fly aloft.
It was a conscious moment. A powerful pause – mid-thought – in which I interrupted my own self before I spoke.
I closed my mouth, and I think my heart smiled.
The collective energy of us really needs me to pause more often. The greater good needs more … good … or at the very least, one less litany of who and what’s lacking. Obviously, I’m still becoming the person I’d most like to be.
Sometimes, one hopeful year is lived one moment at a time.
Thirty-six hours at home. One hot shower and one warm bath on a extremely cold day. Twenty-eight tidy, white stitches cast on Nana’s knitting needles (with any luck, mittens-to-be for a pair of toddler hands.) Five hardy Red Star chickens in the coop out back. A cluster of six red tulips plucked from a grocery store bucket. Two pieces of homemade pizza for dinner. One rainbow shirt and a wish granted. Two days until the full Wolf moon. Eighteen additional minutes of daylight since the New Year. The hope of a 27 degree heat wave tomorrow.
What can I do in this day?
(A meditation.)
How can I do better? Be better? Feel better? What blessings have I forgotten to count?
How can I be kinder? More compassionate? More empathetic?
How can I be a better listener? Give more? Smile more? Friendly more?
Where am I needed? Who and how can I help? What’s my purpose?*
What can I do to live with more heart? More hope?
What can I do in this day to strengthen my body? My spirit? My faith?
How do I human -best- in this world? This world right here, right now. Especially right now.
What can I do in this day?
*Thanks to Linda Stoll for finding the word I was looking for.
Browse your bookshelves. Listen. Pull what speaks to you. Arrange in a pleasing pile. Word by word. Title by title. Rearrange until you discover you in a stack of books. A bit of inspiration. A trove of delight. Hope culled from the books you’ve loved and lived with. Read top to bottom – or bottom to top. Write on your heart.
a year of weeks
365 days of wonder
chasing slow
daring greatly
becoming
joyful
simply living well
Never one to rush time, January, suddenly here you are. I, on the other hand, greet you today with much anticipation and the hope of hopes.
January, you are young, but wise. No doubt you’ve seen the beginning of this story before. You’re all new born, but not naïve. Promises. Commitments. Fresh starts.
Still, you never quite know how the story ends, do you? Not for sure?
I suppose that’s what hope is, after all.
All evidence to the contrary, January, your year may end so much better than it began. Your year may hold a surprise … or twenty-two.
Still, there is much work to be done. And I guess I don’t really need to make one more New Year’s resolution. Our weary world needs a promise. A pledge. So January, here’s mine.
Hope, I’m certain, begins with helping.
I love commas. And as I writer, I’m prone to the (probably) overuse of ellipses. It’s the pause I’m after. The breath in between thoughts. No full stop like a period, a comma dangles there in my writing and in my mind offering me a moment of rest.
Sometimes, a moment is all I need.
Today deserves a few well-placed commas. Some intentional ellipses. A deep breath in … … and a slow exhale of release.
My wish for you in all of today’s hustle and hurry … is at least one hopeful pause.
I’ve felt rushed, but I promise to slow down. Greet you properly as you guide me to the end of this year and the beginning of the next. December, hello, thank you for warming me even on the coldest of days.
In all my busyness, bustling about, and bow tying, I must not forget to breathe you in. Your warm teas, spicy simmer pots, our tiny tree.
I must not forget to sing you out. Your glorias, hymns, and heralds. Your faith found even on the longest and darkest night of the year.
I must not forget to listen for your silent nights, your holy nights, and your peppermint winds. I will listen for your laughter and the making of merry. For the good cheer of bells, the crackle of a fire, and the knock of a neighbor at the door.
I will remember to delight in the foraging of berries, and greens, and cones. Each week, lighting a fresh candle of hope, joy, peace, and love – praying the warmth and glow of each lights my way for months to come. I’ll look for your candles in each window, the impossible pink of a cactus flower, and the I’m Home relief of a wreath at my door.
Dear December, you’re long-awaited and much-anticipated. You’re prayerful, hopeful, wistful, and filled to the minute with celebrations, surprises, and traditions. Sometimes, you’re lonely and grieving. I know this too. I live this too. We’ll remember and honor and pray through it together.
Your lists are long, and your days are short, and I have so very much to be grateful for. In all my busyness, I must not forget to give in any way I can, whenever I can, and whatever I can.
Especially, hope, to whomever I can.
Join me for a Thanksgiving gathering of women I’d love to meet, and greet, and seat ’round my table.To say I know them would be inaccurate as I know them only by their Internet and social media presence. I do know of them. Collectively, I know of their kindness and compassion, their ingenuity, and positive spirits. I know how they motivate, inform, and guide. Their how-tos. Can-dos. Why-don’t-yous.
Such relationships with people I’ve never met enrich my life despite never having become acquainted personally. Perspectives and points of view I’d not considered. Products. Delights. Unexpected surprises. Reminders of how many ways there are to be a good person. An intelligent person. Faithful. Curious. Creative. Nurturing. Inspiring. Giving.
I’m thankful for them all.
Meet Elise! Her year-long Make36 project has been a joy to watch! So creative! So fun! A why-not-try-it wonder!
Meet Nicci! A beautiful soul with beautiful products and talents to share! Check out Nicci’s online shop for everything from well-made toys to garden tools to aprons and good, clean skin care. Nicci has informative workshops available for canning and sourdough baking as well! My very favorite place to shop
Meet Erin! Her living-simply lifestyle blog is a beautiful place to pause and catch my breath. A stay against chaos and confusion. A cleanse of my online palate. And … in case I catch myself getting altogether too comfortable, Erin invites me to social action as well … reminding me of my privilege and all I need to learn.
Meet Linda! A true conversationalist! Linda guides me to explore my faith more deeply. Filled with compassion, Linda kindly encourages all from the comforting welcome of her blog’s front porch.
Meet Debby! A kindred spirit. Together, we’re finding our way through a new phase of living, creating, writing, and growing. It’s always good to have a friend who understands.
Meet Julie! Her Maine homestead is a delightful respite in the wilderness of the Internet. Julie puts the home in home sweet home. A farmer, mama, and maker … her homemade gifts…. wow … and those dolls!
Here’s to finding our fill of hope this Thanksgiving!
one hopeful year 