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Right Here.

 

I have a recurring dream where we live in a house and we suddenly realize there is another whole room that we didn't know was there. It's usually cute and just needs a little touch up. They say these dreams occur when we learn something new, or have a new awakening. Well, this is about an awakening of sorts. 


I am sitting here, in my back porch, which is enclosed in screens and windows and a little door outside, which is why I say in. And as I sit here, I've been working all day. And as I've been working, I've been literally lamenting the fact that I don't have a desk or a better place to sit, or a place to store things, or a place to do more. I am sitting on the couch with an old TV table from the attic in front of me and a little pencil holder and papers spread all around me. I lean forward to type and it's annoying. The cushions from the outside furniture are piled next to the windows and they are annoying too, haphazardly thrown about and piled. And I'm wondering when I can get my office upstairs back. Should I move the boys around again? Should I reclaim a desk in my bedroom? And why does everyone in this house have a desk except for me? And I'm working! And I need a desk to work! And so on and so on. And I begin to feel overwhelmed and frustrated. 

And then I look up. I look around. And sitting here on the floor next to me are a table, two desk chairs that were discarded by their previous owners, my kids, and a file cabinet I trash-picked back in April. And I'm lamenting a lack of a desk. I'm thirsting in water. I'm hungry in a pantry. What is it that blinds us? Stress? Overwhelm? Nostalgia? I don't know. Maybe I've been looking at Instagram too much and wishing I had the offices of the rich and famous. 

Yesterday a friend shared a poem by e.e. cummings that I had never heard before. thank you God for most this amazing. These are the last two lines...

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

It is so beautiful. And the whole poem is truly eye-opening. I love when poetry is a prayer. I am trying to keep my eyes open, but I could not see. All of the things I was missing are right in front of me. It's not even a metaphor - it's literally RIGHT. HERE. It was a pile of junk that I had to get rid of. And now even God laughs! He provided everything I needed. Maybe you are laughing too! Maybe you are like, How could you not see what was right in front of you? I don't know. So I have work to do. And it isn't much work. Unfold a table. Wiggle a chair and shelves around. Maybe spray-paint an old file cabinet. I'm thinking pink?

Even the poem was a gift. Something I needed to see and hear that was offered to me by a friend. We are so loved! We are so cared for! I hope you can open your eyes to what is around you. I hope you have a friend who is offering you a gift. I hope you have a poem that speaks to your soul. I have work to do. I will keep you posted with a picture of my new office once it is complete.

This friend and I were also sharing thoughts on becoming better people. I need to fix this and change that about myself. I have to eat better, workout better, pray better. I sometimes feel like an old junk pile that I have to clean out and fix up and get with it and be better. And guess what? It's not true. We are fine. Not like in the sense of "I'm fine, just fine." But really we are perfect. We are perfectly blind sometimes, we are perfectly stupid too. We are perfectly imperfect and we are just the way we need to be. 

Maybe there is more before me than I realize. I am already missing and lamenting that the kids will leave soon. In TWO MONTHS. Everything we have, everything we need is RIGHT. HERE.  

Comments

  1. AnonymousJanuary 10, 2024 at 1:40 AM

    Absolutely! Morgan Wallen's posters truly capture the essence of musical synergy visually. They reflect his raw talent and the harmony his music brings. The artistic portrayal in those posters speaks volumes about the depth of his melodies. Such a fantastic exploration of his artistry through visuals.

    ReplyDelete

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