gifts

this is going to be one of those blogs about divine appointments and questioning coincidence, just to warn you.

and dont judge me: we all look for God somewhere, at some point in our lives, so you've done the same.



the back story is this:

i left my phone at school, something i have never done in four years of working here, so i was without a convenient medium of communication last night and this morning.



i noticed this morning that i needed gas, so i stopped at the station, pulling in a little too closely to the post so that i had to squeeze out of my door. i had to maneuver my arm into the car to pop the gas tank open because i forgot to do it when i was in the car, and i had a momentary thought that it would be super bad if i locked myself out this morning since i had no phone to call mikey with. while my gas was pumping, i checked, and sure enough, i had accidentally pushed my lock down when i had reached into the car.



mikey and i went to small group last night and mikey drove; he unlocked the door for me on the passenger side, which unlocks all the doors of the car. because it is a part of my obsessive routine, i always lock the car doors when i get out of my car to go in the house at the end of the day. i dont know how or why, but mikey left them unlocked last night. thus, when i checked the passenger door, it was unlocked: voila! crisis averted.



current musing:

how involved was God in this little scenario, i wondered as i finished at the gas station and pulled back onto the road to continue my morning commute. it felt like a gift (like the time i had double booked myself and i was sick with the disappointment i was causing a friend, only to find that we had an unexpected rain that cancelled one of my plans).



a gift in the seemingly insignificant details of my morning that prevented no life-threatening inconveniences.



i know this is an especially poignant thought for me this week as i deal with yet another newly-discovered disappointment: finding myself decidedly un-pregnant. why this gift, God, and not the one i am begging of you? would i sacrifice being uncomfortable using the gas station phone, catching mikey on his way to work, being late for work, for a tiny human being to love growing in my womb (were you to offer me an exchange)? yes.



this is the type of question that many are asking as they hold you at arm's length. why this gift and not the one i am begging of you?



this morning's gift is not the only one you've given me of late. there are things happening in my life that i did not expect, that i did not truly ask for. i am on the cusp of experiencing a new freedom of exploration and creativity in my life. but i didnt beg you for this. i didnt ask for this gift. what is your rhythm of giving and withholding? it's a pattern i cannot understand or explain.



is this Time another un-asked-for gift that i will one day understand? most of the time, it feels like punishment, and pain. what are you trying to give me? what are you trying to help me understand? i hope, hope, hope that you know what you are doing.

morning routine

she swings her legs to one side of the bed to sit up with a stretch;
no sadistic beeping from a clock to shake her back into the world,
just a natural sense of readiness

the world is dark and still outside her windows,
the air cool...as far as she can tell.
will it be rain or sunshine? warm or cool?
it doesn't matter
she will wait for the day to unwrap itself like a gift

she cooks herself a morning bite,
humming in rhythm with the whir of appliances,
the only wakeful accompaniment
but eager to join in the song as always

she leans her head over the open stove,
letting the curls in her hair rise with the heat
beauty shop broiling

she is still inside
will it be rain or sunshine? warm or cool?
it doesn't matter
she will wait for the edges of the day to bloom outward
like a flower
carry it with her, enjoy its color and aroma
until tomorrow when she waits for a new day
to blossom

choosing

almost every time i am faced by an important choice,

i am transported to a remembered moment at the foot of my parent's bed. i was watching my mother gather laundry at the start of a saturday morning. if i could have conveyed to my mother the turmoil within, i just know she would have been horrified.

but there was an unconcerned look on her face when i presented my delimma.


should i go to the office with my father, who often had to work saturdays.

or should i stay at home with mom?

it was a terrible decision to make. no matter what i decided, there was a tinge of regret at the end of the day. did the other parent wish i had been around all day? what memories were made on the other side that i will have forever missed?




i feel a panic so deep that its impossible to root out and discard. i often have to remind myself of another mother-memory: her voice over the phone in my dorm room, telling me "Laura, don't live your life full of regret." She wasn't trying to help me make a decision, or even admonishing me for something i had done; she was trying to help me learn how to forgive myself for simply...making a choice.

im haggling with myself again. it's a constant back and forth that often leads me to a steaming bath, trying to find a brief respite. and im wondering: why is this so hard for me?



i'm worried that it's not in the "plan for my life."

i'm afraid ill be filled with regret and wish the decision undone.

i'm nervous about trying to explain my reasons to people...and mostly terrified they wont understand. they could be mad at me. or worst, they could say something that would make me question the decision in the first place.

none of these seem to be a root problem, though. so what ... is ... it ... exactly?

the pain that good reveals

her expressions are curious
one moment, tapping her foot with a smile
staring at the snow circling to the ground with a distant pleasure
the next, her expression pained
teary-eyed she writes
who knows what sounds she hears through those plastic headphones?
who knows what whips her from one emotion to another?
she closes her eyes,
meditating and still
a moment later, she furiously types
perhaps it helps.
id like to tap her on the shoulder
and ask--
well, what would i ask?

i imagine she looks up at me, and slowly removing one ear bud replies
"memories, good memories. they hurt.
i feel them deeper
than i did in the past
i see them with more clarity
then when they were happening.
i miss them
i want them played before me
i feel their loss like
a deceased love
their goodness
makes this pain unbearable."