A musician plays their instrument to warm-up to play their instrument. I do that, too. I write to warm-up to write. So, here’s a little traditional-style blogging for you. I don’t know what you can expect, but I have a lot to say. Get a cup of tea. I better get one, too.
Today is March 12th.
It’s a wonderful day here, blustery and cool. Over recent weeks we’ve developed a habit of having wonderful conversation with out daughter over coffee. She comes downstairs for her afternoon break, and if we’re all here we will sit together and chat. It’s an incredible gift to have a daughter who wants to talk to us, and whom we want to talk to, too. The differences in our ages and stages is clear, but she’s made Christ her Lord and King and has pursued Him with earnestness. So, she has a lot of credibility. There are things we can learn from her, and we still have things she can learn from us—thank God. Like everything in life, I know this opportunity to have these relaxed conversations will pass one day. That’s just life. However, we are treasuring them now; enjoying every minute.
Doug took the grandchildren to run errands and then to the park. That’s how I landed here. No other voices in the air, so I can hear the voices in my head. Well, it’s primarily my voice, but the Enemy is also shouting in one ear. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit is always there, too. His voice is that still, small voice Satan always tries to drown out.
As I’ve been sitting here, I have also been clearing out some clutter. I have almost 200 drafts that were started and abandoned for one reason or another. I’m trying to figure out that reason. Are they worth finishing? So far, I’ve just been deleting. Too much fluff and stuff. Too many words. I’ve never been a fan of the superfluous.
That last paragraph rhymes.
It’s July 11th now. We’re in the middle of a heat wave. I’m in the middle of recovering from a sickness. Hit me like a ton of bricks five weeks ago. I actually hope I’m further along than the middle, but VNA says they’re with me deep into August. So, this feels like the middle.
I’ve written a lot about this experience, but I really don’t want to talk about it. And, I don’t think anyone wants to hear or read about it. I got sick. I’m getting better. God is getting me through. End of story. I mean, for me it’s been a pretty big deal, but that’s only because I’ve enjoyed a lot of wellness in life. That’s cause for praise. The fact that there were things that I would define as “miserable” is really just proof that I’ve had a very comfortable life. I did feel like I was in prison, but I only had to think about what prison was really like to shake myself out of that delusion. Often, I’d imagine what it would be like to be so sick in Venezuela or as a homeless person in California.
It was a long stay: just enough time to learn the limits of my capacity for dirty hair and hospital coffee.
❤️
The Saxophone Player's Wife 