While Walking in the Middle

Since the last post here, I have been wrapped up in the business of life.  And at the same time, I've felt awkwardly removed from it.  This week there were the moments of being born and of dying all around me.  Lots of my friends are having babies.   This week there are three.  Count it.  Three. And last week my grandpa died.  It felt like a lot of things beginning and ending and in general just passing by.  

So you know what happened with things like paperwork or NOT friendly parents at conferences (who ask me to explain that ONE question on that ONE test I wrote 5 years ago....)?  All of it was put in perspective and in its place in 2 seconds flat.  

Some things matter.  Some things so DON'T that it's almost laughable.  It's good practice for the times when life feels more ordinary.  The air clears faster. But this may just be a sign of the times, or the recognition of growing up.  Like REALLY growing up.  I feel this week that I have really lived.  And, as usual, my head cleared a little more when I thought about things through quotes.  Things like...

Glorius Ruins and the Poetry of Life

Today I took time to look back at old journals and previous writing.  Let me tell you, it is both astonishing and humbling to review previous work, especially if you care about it.  And to see the story of your life in general.  Because inevitably you are able to see the good work of God in your life, and hear the nasty comments and thoughts of the inner critic.  Sometimes at the same time.  My life has been interesting and good and sort of obviously raw all at once.  Like many, or maybe everyone.  My journals show it.

I think about writing all of the time.  When I'm teaching, when I'm talking with people, when I wake up in the morning and am trying to make sense of the day.  'Write it down.'  That's what the inner heartbeat says to me.  And I have lately been thinking about this, and why the thing that charges you up and makes you feel most alive also brings you to your own messy soul just as quickly too.  I have been thinking about bravery and mastery of fear and that things in this world that are broken always end up pointing to God.  God is all about broken things. 

This is the surprising sweetness of grace. 

Now

Ah, November.  This is a month I love.  

It's been said before, but here and now, without fail, life feels different now compared to any other time of the year. Things get gray, and it somehow it makes me happier than before.  I have wondered in the past if I am terribly morbid and tragic to crave this season so much.  But I'm ok with it now.  If I am tragic and morbid, something else balances me out.   I have learned that I am not alone in this feeling....a lot of others love November too.  (Do you?)   

What is this anyway?   A quieter time?  Or (for me, at least) the internal rhythm of teaching beginning to make sense? Sometimes I think it's as simple as bracing winds coming to the door, and being awake enough to life to still step out into the world and greet it.  In November, I wake up and settle down all at once.  I also start reading poems by Robert Frost.  

November is also the time of thoughtfully waiting.  And making space.

  
In the midst of the business of life, I have lately been thinking about a lot of wandering things.  Thoughts thought by C.S. Lewis.  Thoughts of my family.  Of my life as a teacher.  Patterns all around me.  Books and the things that are in them.  What is comforting in the fall.  The importance of making space.  How good it feels to have a season change right in front of you.  Why I like certain things and not others.  I feel unfettered and I can't tell if that is making me feel good or mostly alarmed inside.  Unfettered means 'to release from restraint or inhibition'.  (Hmm.)