Mr. Jones and me

January 11, 2005

stairwell accompaniment:Counting Crows

Have I told you how many times lately I have sat down to post. And ended up just sitting down. I’m consistently amazed have my life’s content can change so drastically in such a short(very short)timespan. So am I not posting because I don’t want to let the outside in (*cough* yes, you.) or because I’m not sure I want in myself? I’m hidden to even myself. Often.

I’m not intimidated by doing things alone. I am not at all intimidated by my singleness. In fact, many life-activities I would prefer to participate in alone: always shopping, runnung, sometimes movies, often lunch out, traveling, living, I am so often content alone. And there’s always an exception(or two)to the rule. I do not enjoy weddings when attending alone. This week I discovered that I most definitely do not attend funerals alone well. The death of a friend and all I can manage to do is sit in a pew, cry quietly, pray intently, cross my arms and…and feel so very alone. This week was difficult.

Difficult with a broken toe. Bruised and cracked by the wrath of a full plastic water bottle and gravity. Pain.

I was renewed Sunday afternoon. From an uplifting church service? Time spent worshipping God through music? Taking pictures of my pregnant sister? An irish cream streamer? Maybe some of the above-life is good because God is good. I was uplifed Sunday by that deep-down warming sunlight I have been imagining through these grey clouds of January. The sunshine that warms your winter car from the inside. The warmth that makes you want to take a nap in the sunbeam. Warm on my face, hot in my black hair. Warm from that massive heavenly ball of fire that could only have been dreamed up and created by a God so good…the God that graciously calls me “beloved”.

It’s a new week now.

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