Accidental Posting

I don't have time to blog today. But I read and responded to my friend. And this came out. Yikes. I had to put it here too.
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Moving forces the opportunity to take a look at posessions long forgotten, like old pictures of when the wee ones were still wee. I was tempted to give all the pictures and videos of the little boy to the grown up man's fiance. Oh, she will get some, but I got to thinking that those days were our time. We try to share the memories with the one we prayed for all those years before we knew her, to let her in on the joy of the amazing, adorable little guy her man used to be. The smiles and laughs and little sense of humor that had us cracking up every single day. But they are our memories. It was our time. Now it's grown up man time and it's her time. Those darling little people that used to scurry around our legs are long gone. We are as proud and pleased as we can be of the adults they have become, but when I see those pictures, I miss the little buggers they were. So, I'll give a few photos to my new daughter and copy whatever she wants, but I'll keep most of those tattered prints from Mr. Olan Mills and the ones I actually took time to snap myself. I need to make sure I take another look before we have to move again. The precious, ephemeral wisps of images and sounds they evoke in my head dig deep into my soul and feel so sublime and hurt so badly that they make me sense the essence of life itself. The loss is tremendous, and the having had the gift of something so wonderful that the passing of it hurts so much is blessed. Ahh! I just looked out the window and saw my first hummingbird of the season flitting about the trees. Such a tiny little wonder, a hummingbird. It stirs up the desire to get one's head and heart around it. But you can't. Just like you can't do it with a mountain. The hummingbird and the mountain are the same in that way - creations so full of the creator's glory that you can contemplate them until you go crazy but you can never finish with them. So life goes on. And beckons me to run after it.

Moving

We've known about it for about a year. The time has now come. We must be out by a week from tomorrow. Such an amazing amount of stuff to deal with. Endless trips to the storage. A constant worry about what to give away, what to throw away, what to store, what to save out, what will we need? Will the closing go smoothly? Will there be a last minute snag? What will we do next? Should we act quickly or wait? Will we make a wise next move or ruin our future? It is all bone-acheingly tiring. The house seems almost empty, but like the poor widow's jar of oil, more keeps pouring out of it. Like hamsters in a cage, we keep moving the cedar chips from one side to the other. What is the point? Stuff is a burden. And there is the burden of guilt for holding on to things I shouldn't. And of letting go of things I will need. How to be a good steward of time and effort and space vs. the necessary stuff to make life go on efficiently? There seem to be many questions and precious few answers. Sometimes you just have to make a decision and go with it. Then we enter the realm of spouses who seldom agree on anything on a practical, day to day level. How to synchronize or daily goals and pursuit of them (which seldom jives) in service of the big, long term goals we have that do agree? One more box packed. One more trailer load out of the driveway. One more day toward the next critical event. One foot in front of the other. And trust in God that He will give us enough light for that step.

Back online

Nearly two months without an internet connection. Cut off from civilization as we know it. Almost I had to permanently live in a cave. The 2,000 emails (that's AFTER the spam filter) were almost too much. There were actually about 10 I needed to read. Any more and I think I would have had to turn off the computer and never look back. But we are back and my brain can now access info once again. Now if I could just remember the hundred or so things I wanted to look up.

I can dream, can't I?

Home

Driving up a lane through a canopy of trees
Pulling into the familiar parking spot I shut off the engine
And sit there for a moment soaking in the quiet
But not complete quiet
A bird sings a song to tell it's mate of my arrival
A rush in the wood a hundred yards away
And a moment's flash of view imprints the sublime
Spots on the back of the bounding fawn
Flying off to start it's nocturnal grazing
My attention is drawn to the windows of our trim little house
Warm light pours out of them making a glow about the place
Barely visible through them is a tantalizing world of coziness
Beckoning the weary to come in and find haven

We leave our special place daily to find bread by sweat of brow
Contortion of mind and soreness of muscle
The world sits on it's heavy weight and resists
As we struggle to move it one inch
Tomorrow we will struggle to move it one inch more
But this evening
This and every other
We retreat to our private world
Our place of comfort and security
To renew strength
And share love
To be intense
And intensely do nothing

Sometimes we will welcome others to share the wonder
To give and take and bless
But most times it will be just you and me
And the birds and fawns
A slow burning fire
A breeze in the treetops
Lots of talk
Lots of quiet
And peace
A home