in the quiet.
...after the chopping,
and stirring and smelling,
after the waking,and baking,
after the hugging,
and greeting
,after the turkey,
and pie,
and coffee,
and unbuttoning...
the house is quiet.
little full tummies sleep.
big full tummies sleep too.
I sat down a few moments ago, by the bookshelf in my “early days” room and pulled journals off the shelf. Pages and pages of moments lived, questions explored, feelings felt. I carry so much within, joy and laughter, irreplaceable moments, and grief for what is no more. And all of it, ALL of the stories, makes me feel rich indeed. And sometimes I wonder at how much life I've lived.But tonight, as I read, I began to feel heavy (and it wasn't just the pecan pie.). There are a few unanswered questions in my life that I have learned to live with - pieces of myself I have thrown out into the great unknown, trusting that answers would come eventually.
But still I wait.
And sometimes I feel fragmented, with pieces of me remaining in the past, and pieces of me trying to find a home in the now. I think I am starting to sound all cryptic, and I don't mean to.
Suffice it to say, I eventually put the journals back in their niche and breathed a sigh.
I climbed in to bed, in the dark, and whispered:
"God?"
"Would you meet me here? Would you meet me now? I have looked back on my life, and I can see you clearly there. But I can't see you now. Would you meet me here? Please don't give up on me."
Tears came.
"God, I'm a mess."
"But you're My mess."
"But I don't want to be a mess."
"But you're a lovable mess."
"Thanks God. I needed that...."
And now, I sleep.
Signed with love,
the diary keeper, ‘my charliegirl.
