It’s been an interesting week.
My uncle, my mom’s older brother, passed away.
Abby told me that she thinks being booted from all her classes (18 mostly business credits) this semester because of an email fluke was a blessing in disguise. She thinks she’d rather be a teacher.
She also told me that her probable future fiance, the photography major, is considering medical school–or something along that line.
Jeremy proposed to his girlfriend of seven (eight) years, and we are looking at a fourth of July wedding.
My husband’s car needs $600 worth of work. A bunch of brake stuff is shot, but I guess that’s to be expected on a car with 400,000 miles. He loves that car. So he has taken mine until it’s fixed late next week. And left me stranded.
I’ve moved from my summer seating (now that baseball is winding down) back up to my penthouse. The room is desperate for a cleaning. It’s become a clutter and cobweb collector over the summer.
From my window, I look out over the backyard that edges the field that edges the woods that edges the interstate. L.L. Barkat talks about edges in her first chapter, Invitation, of God in the Yard.
Technically, an edge is where one habitat meets another.
Edges are places that support a broad range of wildlife.
Culturally, we’re not trained to love edges, but might they hold something unseen, unexpected?
And my brain starts to play with edges.
What does it mean to live on the edge?
Can I live life from the center, yet on the edge?
Can I live on the edge and not fall off?
Does living on the edge mean more than moving out of my comfort zone or breaking out of boundaries?
Can it mean to drink in details, look for wonders, and wait with hope?
Can it mean adventure, yet peace?
Can it mean to live deep and grow up?
Scott Couchenour says in a comment on his blog, “Agriculturalists will tell you that the greatest location of growth lies where two venues come together (for example, where woods end and a field begins.)
At the edge of the fence, I see the tree whose branches overhang my clothesline. My husband considered cutting the tree down because of bird droppings on a quilt.
I don’t think so.
I like how it frames my view.
And I would have missed ignoring the dew that soaked the edge of my robe this morning as I tried to capture a woodpecker tapping its way through the branches.
I missed, but I did manage (sort of) to catch it on a neighboring tree.
Anyway, maybe a big part of living on the edge is learning to balance the doo and the dew of life.
“We live at the edge of the miraculous.” ~Henry Miller
“You get us ready for life; you probe our soft spots, you knock off our rough edges.” Psalm 7:9 (Message)
It’s Friday, so I’m linking up with my friend, Cassandra (who thinks she’s not seeing much today) at the Moonboat Cafe.