It’s dark when I head to the porch this morning. Dark and chilly and windy. I wrap the Dora blanket around my legs and rock while the trees sprinkle my face. I note a light on at Abby’s, and I wonder if everything is okay and think about texting, but I don’t.
I hear semi trucks on the highway and a train whistle in the distance.
And I rock.
And wonder if Gracee’s soccer game will be a go.
And I want to think good things or hear good things.
But this morning, as I invite Jesus to rock with me and wait for my headache to ease, I rehearse things I need to (or could) say to someone who I think needs to hear them. To someone who has stolen joy from and threatens to steal more joy from someone(s) I love. Things I’ve been holding in for a long time. And I envision opportunities and how to speak (because this someone intimidates me) and what to say in a firm manner. And I wonder how it will be received and what consequences will result.
But if it’s going to be said, it needs to be said now.
Or maybe I can get my husband to do it.
Maybe these thoughts will pass. Just blow away in the wind.
I really don’t want to be thinking about this.
But I guess I need to.
L.L. says that “it is during mindless drifting that our deepest needs come to the surface.”
Maybe there’s some truth to that.
But I’d rather think good things and hear good things.
And I ask for wisdom and strength.