This morning as I left my house for a run, I found things a little off.
Things were quiet. Too quiet. Ever since Christmastime or so, I have struggled to get up at 5 a.m. Without the immediate need - a client at 6:00, getting a kid to school, husband leaving early - I have enjoyed the ability to stay in bed until closer to 6:00, sometimes later. Don't get me wrong, I would rather be up at 5:00 getting life going, but it was just plain hard. Because I have been waking up later, I have been leaving for runs later as well. I have noticed that with the spring air moving in, my neighborhood often sounds like an aviary. The constant songs and chatter are fighting over one another like my children do. He who is heard the loudest, must be the best! I usually enjoy the songs of birds as I run in the morning, but the last two weeks it has sounded more like cluttered noises, than beautiful songs. I don't typically prefer to wake up later, even if I can without repercussions. There is something that eases my soul to wake up early. To have things done before children awaken means that they are done with full thought capacity. I don't have to split my attention. Getting up at 5:00 and not having any commitments until 2:45 means that I can get plenty of my own agenda done before I need to be a caregiver, teacher, or anything else. It's a bit like "me time." Saturday I had the opportunity to attend the local farmer's market as a vendor yet again. I was bound and determined to get up and run before getting up to the market to set up. That meant a 5 a.m. wake up and actually getting out of bed. With the impending leave time approaching, I had no difficulty waking up and heading out to the warm air for a short, but needed run. With three miles under my belt, my head was clear for the day ahead. And how thankful I was to not have to come home at 2:00 and need to go for a run! I spent time playing games with my children and relaxing before heading to my grandmother's for dinner. That morning's run was quiet, but some wildlife was stirring, and readying themselves for a warm spring day. When I left for the market at 6:45, the aviary was wide awake and chatter filled the air. The alarm is now set back to 5:00 in hopes that the effects of waking up Saturday will keep for the days ahead. Today I was awakened before 5 a.m. Oh, how I loathe those moments when you are 25 minutes away from your alarm going off! How dare the week begin like this! And yet, I was not tired. After odd dreams, and odd noises outside my window, I was happily awake in my bed. As I was alert and ready, my body still wished for some rest so I decided to begin my day with some prayer. Could there be a better start? When the alarm did go off at 5:00, I turned it off and continued praying. Starting the day thankful, and asking for grace and peace cannot go wrong. I was up and out, on the way. The sounds of the wind pushing my children's plastic pool had ceased. In fact, all the sounds I have grown accustomed to were not there. There were no birds calling to one another. The aviary was silent. I did not know if they were sleeping, or hiding. No rabbits greeted me at turns. It was quiet. Too quiet. Eerily quiet. I suppose that sounds crazy coming from a mother of little ones. Is there ever such a thing as too quiet? Is it not all that I longed for last week? Now in the midst of quiet, I hoped for noise. I hoped for chatter. I write this thankful for the silence that came this morning. I'm thankful for the wind that kept the world around me quiet, so that I could appreciate the chatter of my little ones. Yes, they will get too loud. Yes, they will bring me to a point of frustration. I just hope that I can remember that I've experienced quiet today, and it wasn't what I needed. Mark 1:35 - And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, he (Jesus) departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed. Psalm 127:3&4 - Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth.
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I have always been fascinated with winged creatures. How amazing it must be to fly above it all? I've written about ducks in my collection of essays. I think it hilarious when a duck cannot drop down the six inch curb because his legs are too short when all he has to do is flap his wings a few times and he's across the street.
Recently I saw a meme posted by a friend with a duck at the top of the water. The wings are up in full force and the caption says, "Find your wings my friends." I being the ever realist, contradicting, you know what, though to myself, "Maybe I'm a penguin and I can't fly!" I don't know what came over me in that moment, but my snarky remark made me think for a few days. God created creature after creature. Bird after bird are similar and, yet, different. As God, in his infinite wisdom, created the penguin, eagle, and sparrow, he did so with a purpose. Even if only in this moment of recognition, there is purpose. A requirement for a bird is wings. It needs to be able to propel itself with those wings. However, not each set of wings is designed the same. The eagle spreads large wings that soar majestically thousands of feet in the air. Yes, thousands! The penguin will never be there. Just because he has wings, they are more related to flippers of a fish, than wings of an eagle. You and I each have a purpose. You and I may have similar interests and talents, but we are not all called to the same calling. Growing up, my brother and I were fairly competitive. I'm pretty sure if he wasn't such a good student, I would have stayed as a B-C student rather than pushing a little harder to make the A. I was hugely into sports. He dabbled in high school athletics, but moved on in other directions. By the time I reached high school I learned that I am smart, but he was smarter. He was athletic, but I a little more. If I had tried to fill my brother's shoes in academics, I would have been miserable. I hated history, and made it through Calculus. My Biology teacher hated me, and I never read for English. (Shout out to Lisa Goodman Reily for the cliffnotes version all through high school.) My point is that so often we get pushed into boxes and labels based on things that we are capable of, but not necessarily designed for. So often I felt that the only way I would make anything of myself was to get ahead in the sports world. Now, I'm about to release my second children's book! Those two things are not connected for me. If I had chosen a life devoted to athletics (outside of my training) I wouldn't be where I am in this moment. Just because I have wings, doesn't mean I have to soar. Maybe I was designed to swim. It doesn't mean that I'm not a bird, I just don't have to be like other birds. Be who you were designed to be. Do what you are called to do. Even if others think that you are supposed to be in one area or another, be cautious. Listen to sound advice, not anyone who passes you by. So soar, fly, swim, run, jump, scoot, fall, crawl, do what you are supposed to do. At this moment, I am having an affair. My husband is well aware of it. I'm pretty sure my son is too. No friendship has ever felt as natural as this one. We were meant to be together. My heart aches because of our physical distance. Why did she have to pass? I know she would accept me as her friend, how could she not?
A few years back I took a class at John C. Campbell Folk School. I highly recommend every person on the planet to go and take one class. Just one. While I was there I purchased a writing book written by one of the teachers there. It is the course book, if I were to take the class, but outside of the class it has a great deal of information, guidance, and writing starters. The author also presents a list of books that writers need to read. So, a good student of my craft, I placed these books in my Amazon cart and held them to the "save for later" area. Eventually I was able to purchase most of them, if I didn't already own them or easily found them at the library. One of the books was "A Wrinkle in Time," by Madeleine L'engle. Yes, I got to read it before this Disney-fied mass marketed craze occurred. I was hooked. The mix of science and faith. The use of complicated words for a book marketed to children. (I later learned it was never her intention to market the book to children.) Yes, that book created my love affair with Madeleine. I believe we could be on a first name basis. As I said, she is no longer present to be offended. Also, if a member of her family or inner circle were to comment on my blog for calling her by such familiarity, I would be honored, whether good, bad, or ugly. Since reading "Wrinkle" I moved on to "A Wind in the Door," the sequel to wrinkle. I even rented the old movie from the library. Oh, how they butchered it. I understand we don't have time to get every detail, but it was lack-luster at best. I own the quintuplet, as well as some other fictional works from her that I have yet to dive into. At a time in my writing struggles, I found a book she had written called "Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith & Art." It was the answer I was looking for. How does a Christian writer continue to write fiction while wanted to serve the Lord in the craft? Must we always place the thread of our religion into the works, or do we need to create specifically seen Christian work for it to be credited to us as a work for God? It was something I was struggling with. As I read "Walking on Water," I realized just how similar Madeleine and I are. I saw the same struggles, desires, questions. It made me immediately regret that I came into the literature world too late. She passed away in 2007, I was just leaving college. My path was far away from where I am now. Yet, where I am now wouldn't be if it weren't for the path I took. Oh the tragedy. I can sit around and play the "Oh me, oh my, why couldn't it be?" game all day long, but that will not solve anything in life. At this point, I would just like to say thank you to Madeleine for writing what I needed. The fiction, the essays - her journals give my heart peace. She has inspired me a decade after her passing. If her family were to come across this blog, I hope that they know just how important she has been to American literature, and writers across the world. I hope that I will be able to put words to paper in a way that creates a little twinge of hope the way she has for me. Whether I do or do not, rest assured, I think I will always carry this love of Madeleine, my one day when we meet in heaven friend. "My husband is my moth ruthless critic. Tallis runs him a close second. Sometimes he will say, 'It's been said better before.' Of course. It's all been said better before. If I thought i had to say it better than anybody else, I'd never start. Better or worse is immaterial. The thing is that it has to be said; by me; ontologically. We each have to say it, to say it our own way. Not of our own will, but as it comes out through us. Good or bad, great or little: that isn't what human creation is about. It is that we have to try; to put it down in pigment, or words, or musical notations, or we die." Madeleine L'Engle - A Circle of Quiet |
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