Writing on the Lamplit Porch

"Come out of the bustlings, you who are bustling."

I thought of this quote by George Fox tonight because it felt important.  I put myself in front of God - no distractions, and as much of me as I could in an honest way - and I only felt that I needed to rest.  I've been feeling peace in my bones lately and it has moored me to a self I would rather be, and reminded me of Jesus at the most surprising times.  There could be a thousand little things happening in front of me, but it's secondary to the peace.  Again, I feel grateful.

I've decided that spring finally feels like it's here to stay.  A few days ago I was relishing the sentiment by Mark Twain that said, "In the spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six different kinds of weather inside of four and twenty hours."  I thought of this because I was feeling shirked.  Is that the best word for it?  I usually roll with the punches concerning the weather, and spend more time secretly amused and relieved by fellow Minnesotans in their continual habit of discussing this first in general conversation.  But last week I felt shifty leaving my house.  Kind of duped and ticked off all at once.  I wasn't in the mood to revel in the wind, rain, and everything in between.  Having outside recess duty for Quarter 4 has something to do with this love/hate relationship I am sure. 

But I think that spring is (mostly) here to stay.



Spring in Stillwater means lots of things that I have now gotten used to.  It means Nelson's Ice Cream, the historic downtown filled to the brim with people, the lift bridge on a new schedule, the house down the street decorated for Easter (a LOT of decor, very intense) instead of Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, February 14 or St. Patrick's Day.  Best of all, everywhere, it means fresh air and flowers on the breeze.  And the tree outside my window blooming again.  

I've lived here for 3 years, and home here has always been in the same trusty little apartment at the top of North Hill.  I like it because I'm in a neighborhood and because my neighbors are loyal to Stillwater and seem to be old ladies you could find in a book.  One has a cat named Larry.  She is very outspoken.  One has a bird named Bird.  Not as outspoken.  Once, when we had to take shelter in the downstairs level, she told me that she wouldn't mind if Bird died up there in the bathroom if a tornado hit.  She's had the bird for 30 years.  (I didn't really know what to say, but I smiled and tried to sound supportive of whatever happened to it.)  

The apartment has a charming name that makes me feel nostalgic and I am tucked high up on the third floor, which gives me a perch that is always privy to a good sunrise. This I love.  The sky has always been my favorite part of creation.  Even more than mountains!  And I really love mountains.

Speaking of the sky, tonight I counted 12 different kinds of clouds or colors.  It made me think of the grandeur of God because I realized that the number 12 felt like a large number to me.  God is so creative that he can make the sky look different in 12 different ways.  Then I realized how small humans are.  God delights in seeing my vantage point of the sky, yet there are things God has counted that I can't even comprehend.  This reminds me of the times that I stop every once in a while and think, "You can't even fathom what 1 million means."  That's so weird!  I can't!  That vein of thought is similar to the complete mystery that space is to  me too.  Not space as an area, but outer space.  One time I woke up and the first thing I thought, before anything else, was, "What is there no oxygen in outer space?  Why?"  If you really think about it, aside from all of the scientific awareness we now have (other people, not me) of the complexities that actually describe this well, it's really an amazing thing.  I have a brain that lives by quotes and thinks in stories, but I admire the scientific brain too. 

I don't know why my mind comes up with this things, and then takes time to make them legitimate quandaries, but sometimes this is just how it works for me.  It's not even that I have a huge need to figure out every detail of the topic, which has led me to believe that I am a soul very comfortable with mystery.   Being enshrouded in mystery doesn't bother me very much at all.  In fact, I think I really love mystery.  Not the book genre, but the feeling of living in it when you can tell you're soon going to see something very, very good.  And enshrouded really is the best word for addressing it, I think.  I can live there.

Spring in Stillwater (the pre-tangent topic) is really beautiful because the days stretch out and you get to see more of the things happening in front of you.  There's a quote (of course there is) that talks about this in a good way, but I'm not remembering it, and I also can't find it.  It's very poetic, which is very appropriate too for spring in May.  It's something about the days getting longer.

I should have graded things this weekend, but I didn't.  There is too much striving in the week.  Too much communication.  Too much attention toward good things that matter but are draining.  I realized today there needed to be repair. 

So I lingered there. 

I drove to Northfield to see my parents this morning at the crack of dawn and was enveloped in a truly lovely sunrise.  Driving out of the St. Croix Valley into farmland is a very therapeutic thing.  Both are now very familiar to me.  I listened to Norah Jones and set the cruise control because I did not want a repeat scenario of the speeding ticket I got a few weeks ago near Waterville.  I surprised my parents, we drank coffee and then we went to church together. 

Church in your hometown is a good reminder that you are known and that people love you and remember you.  That was sort of humbling today.  I will admit that I did try to avoid a certain older lady who is very good at cornering people.  My dad got cornered, but I mean that in the best possible way.  I will also admit that there was an extremely good looking man there as an usher with his parents.  My family met extended family at Ruby Tuesdays for lunch, and when there I felt again that celebrating mothers is an awesome thing.  I love my mom.  Join everyone, right?  But she truly is one of the best kinds of people.

Since then, I've been still.  Or at least I came out of the bustlings

I realized that it's been a long time since I sat on a swing and did nothing more than swing a little.  So, very randomly, I walked to a local elementary school, and did this.  While swinging, I thought about a few of my students who happen to be the 7th grade boys looking for daring adventures on the playground.  This mostly involves jumping off of the swings when they are at the highest point in the air, attempting to do flips while moving, and spinning in them until they feel sick.  I did not do any of these things, but for a split second I did think about these things that can truly be described as shenanigans.  I was swinging pretty high myself, and then I remembered that I really was a cautious kid at playgrounds, and there is still some of that in me as an adult.  I got scared for a minute, but then the logical adult side kicked in.  It was really weird to feel like that again.   

All of this was meant to explain that I have been very much a still person inside.  And how does this look right now?  I am sitting on the porch listening to music that is best suited for writing with decaf coffee. I've got a plant on my left, courtesy of generous parents who donated plants for Teacher Appreciation Week.  There was a raffle, and I won!  I've got a lamp out here and twinkling lights lining the railings.   And books, a citronella candle (thankfully not yet necessary), and a perfect evening breeze are closing this weekend very well.  

This week I am in a mood to remember the good thoughts of favorite book characters like Betsy Ray and Anne Shirley and Juliet Ashton.  They are some of the best, and they (Anne especially) have been known to say some very apt things about May and the season of spring.  I will be unearthing these thoughts on this very porch in the next few days.  Twinkling lights included.

Questions to mull over: 
1. What is repair going to be like for me (or you!) on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc.?   (You get the drift.) 
2. How are my eyes being opened to the beauty of spring and new seasons and May? 
3. As ever, am I in balance? 
4. What is good and adventurous and inevitable and fun right in front of me?  There are usually many things waiting to be seen with sincere delight. 

I intend to find them this week.