On Me

I often take quiet walks in the woods. There is nothing. No one but me and the towering pines and glowing birches. I extend my arms and gently greet every living thing I meet. I let my fingertips brush every surface and my senses are tickled by earthy smells and the green feeling of LIFE. I touch the feathery hemlock boughs, the papery bark of the birches, the gnarled trunks of ancient maple trees, the tiny saplings stretching in the sunlight, drinking in the spring. I see familiar fruits and stoop for a taste, thanking nature for what she has offered me. My heart soars with the birds as the they declare their spring joys and triumphs.

And I am at peace.

In the morning, I strap on my hiking pack (loaded with my life binder, my computer, my lunch, an umbrella, a head lamp, a water bottle, my wallet, and pens), and head out the door. As I walk, I pass a river, bathing seagulls, tulips and daffodils bred for beauty, and tiny delicate pale violets growing wild. Today, I saw a woman hosing her black lab down as he wagged his tail joyously and she laughed. In this time, I listen to music. I sing along in my head but a few notes always end up escaping my lips. But the roads are empty. There is no one there to hear it. I am filled with peace-knowing that I am saving money, helping my heart, and decreasing my mark.

Work is filled with possibility that I sometimes ignore. It's hard to not have any REAL work to do. But I find that there are times when I have a passion that thrills me. I feel it when I speak to others about my grand plans. Sometimes it sneaks in as I listen to someone else speak on insects, raised garden beds, or hawks and owls.

It's an elusive thing, this passion. I often wish I could capture it. Bottle it. And then access it in those times I feel discouraged. Or bored. I live for and CLING to those moments when I am filled with it. Alas, it eventually seeps away through the caulander-like holes that puncture my ambition here sometimes.

But all is not lost. There is hope. There is promise. It is THAT which I hold fast to. That and hope.

I leave earlier these days. There is no need to stick around and eat dinner at my desk anymore. No more thoughts of "should I just pull out my sleeping bag and spend the night here?" or "I wonder how long I can stay here before it becomes pathetic.". Instead, I leave when it's appropriate. I take the journey back home (for it IS a home.). The way back is easier (literally and figuratively).

And then I am home, the night is full of possibility. Over there is my guitar. Perhaps I will teach myself a new song or a new scale. Right there is a book. Well loved and practically memorized. Right beside it is a NEW book full of exciting possibility. And right here, there is a world of new things to stumble upon and then pearl (It pleases me how "spending time browsing the internet" can sound so charming). Underneath the window there is a box of colors and bits of paper-just waiting for me to create. There is even that binder. The one that holds my life and all it's thoughts. Within in it are the possibilities of worlds not explored.

Most importantly of all there is sometimes this:

"Sarah-Please help yourself to chicken, cheese, anything you can find. Also, on the counter, in cookie jar is my homemade granola-raisins, oats, nuts seeds, fruits, low sugar."

A simple, quiet note left on the fridge. Or maybe on the door. A mark of consideration and a willingness to share.

She and I spent 1/2 an hour on Monday having a miniature Family Home Evening. That she wants to do this and encourages it is more that I could have asked for. I could not be in a better place in this ancient house, with my purple rug and rocking chair.

There are pressures. There is still doubt. Sometimes it rains and sometimes it's cold. But I find that those things are bearable these days. I can only do what I can do. Being filled with worry and anxiety will get me no where and only make me unhappy.

I leave you with a quote-

“Please, Aslan,” said Lucy. “Before we go, will you tell us when we can come back to Narnia again? Please. And oh, do, do, do make it soon.”
“Dearest,” said Aslan very gently, “you and your brother will never come back to Narnia.”
“Oh, Aslan!!” said Edmund and Lucy both together in despairing voices.
“You are too old, children,” said Aslan, “and you must begin to come close to your own world now.”
“It isn't Narnia, you know,” sobbed Lucy. “It's you. We shan't meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?”
“But you shall meet me, dear one,” said Aslan.
“Are are you there too, Sir?” said Edmund.
“I am,” said Aslan. “But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader – Chapter 16