Next door, the eccentric hippie has already fallen asleep - so sweet in her abundance of middle-age strangeness; dreaming of new pathways to add to her backyard, surrounded in the beauty she brought from home - it’s like a fairytale cottage in there, fresh flowers and baskets and bistro chairs. It never occurred to me to pack beauty along with my shampoo and I stare sadly at these scarred, bare walls and miss the chaos of the they-just-went-to-bed-and-left-their-clothes-all-over-the-place living room. But in the same breath, I don’t. Here there is no constant nagging need, no whine, no dishes. And no goodnight hug - stolen or otherwise. I am first a mom. Always. It’s clearer here.
So, I’ve survived my first day of classes. Eight intensive hours and I’m left feeling less equipped than when I started. Overwhelmed by the task of ‘worship leader’ and the three more days I have before me. The class is small - only nine of us - with a lot of pressure to contribute. I am not a contributor. I am a slow processor. I want to ruminate. I want to sit quietly and listen. I am far removed from my comfort zone.
I’m in the basement - a cell block of women in the same class. Someone’s playing the piano and singing and it’s beautiful and lonely. I’ve kept my door open so I can listen. The carpet’s clean. The furniture is scarred. The air is stuffy - my window has been painted shut - but it’s warm and grandma’s quilt makes it feel a little bit like home. I’m full from a lovely dinner of chicken and storytelling with my partner in crime. Exhausted from what I’m not used to.
And now I have a two hour, UNINTERRUPTED date with Ted Dekker
and that’s a beautiful, beautiful thing!
and that’s a beautiful, beautiful thing!  |
| I was that second bottom window to the left of the middle entrance doors, Lehman Hall Rm 8 |
0 comments:
Post a Comment