Author: alwaysbridging

As you likely know by now, I have mixed feelings about coming indoors and returning to normal. Of course, it was magical to be around the table celebrating my mother on her very birthday. In the midst of the gaiety though, I learned about the murders in Atlanta. My heart aches.

Before dispersing, we accidentally lit tissue paper on fire and fluttered together for a few seconds before returning to safety. Only ash remained providing a good reminder that we are all evolving into spirit. Can we acknowledge that we are one first and all in this together?   

It’s been a year (to the day) since we’ve invited this fantastic leprechaun, or anyone else for that matter, into our home. TONIGHT though, we will be celebrating her 93 years (to the day) together–inside, with live jazz piano and homemade ice cream cake, and without masks (as per love and prayers and CDC guidelines). Lord, have mercy!

Last night we went to Paris after attaching steps to Carolina’s tiny home near Concrete. We had the restaurant’s outdoor heated porch to ourselves because everyone else is starting to move back indoors. This business of socializing outside has been a blessing. I don’t want to return to how I did things before—crowding in commitments, not noticing what was good, not noticing what wasn’t. I can already tell it will be tempting to create a new normal in the hopes of feeling safe there. But will I feel this joyful?

About these daily 100-words-or-less posts for Lent:

They come in a different order each time—the words, the title, the photo—before the editing down. Now that we are halfway through these 40 days, it’s easier. I trust more. And delight, marvel even, when they land before me, complete. Writing with God does have a lilt to it.

Again then, why would I doubt? So human.    

When they told me she was a girl, I was absolutely flooded with warmth. We have shared zillions of flat-out joyful moments since then. What a spectacular human being she is. Happy Birthday to Carolina Jane. Happy Birthing Day to me.