Wordy

Just know that I DID write something. Except it was too personal for this public little blog, and it was way too long for this venue. (Which is supposed to be short and sweet...OK, maybe just short.) Brevity is gonna be the beast on this one...

Already Behind

The plan was to post a paragraph or so every day.  Hone the writing skills and all that. Three days in and I'm already behind.  I did try yesterday, but there wasn't a one thing. 
A one thing that fusses with me, nags at me and prods me to lose myself in it's imagery.   
Nothing surfaced that needed me to write it yesterday, though there were a few photos I fell in love with.  They'll speak soon enough.
No pictures allowed here,though.  Just words.
Today, oh but today--there was a one thing. 
I bought him a shirt with pocket snaps.  I can't say if he'll wear it.  Can't say if he should, or what that means, if anything at all. 
If he did, it would make me smile.  I told him we could match in Seattle.  I waited for his eyes to roll...yep, right on cue. 
Mine has flowers on it.  Roses & pocket snaps.
The Emerald City, the White Wizard, Words, photos, pocket snaps...
It's gonna be a good time.

Faith

Last night she prayed.  Willingly, lengthily.  Her prayer was full of life, excitement, and well...faith. She prayed for her sisters, she was grateful, she asked God to help us get caught up with her flannelgraph...because she wants to learn again.  I'm trying to put my finger on it--you know--what made her change her mind about God.  How do you teach a nine year old to believe a God you can't figure out yourself?  How do you ask her to trust your trust in Him?  How do you accept your inability to make God reveal Himself to her? 
I didn't know how to do any of that.  I just decided to love her. To keep telling her I love her.  To keep telling her how much He loves her. 
It seems to have made a difference.  Something in her heart has changed, softened, opened...at least for now.  Help her to keep believing.  Teach faith to her spirit, even if her mind can't yet hold it fast.

Shirts

I like to wear his shirts.  Even more so when he's not home.  Especially to bed--they're so much roomier than mine.  If I'm warmed from a hot shower, I grab one of his new undershirts.  So white clean, so soft cotton.  If I'm cold I go for a long-sleeve thermal.  The cuffs stretch over my fingertips.  I'm comforted and somehow, though I get a little lost in the extra fabric, I feel closer to him.  I sleep swaddled in sheet, shirt, and sweet sorts of dreams.
  

Hard Floors

I like a hard floor. 
Tile, wood, marble...natural materials, mostly.  A flat, solid plane to press my bare feet into.
I like my toes to tell me the temperature.
That can't happen with carpet.  Not that I don't like a soft warm rug.  But I can't appreciate a rug until I've traveled a cold unyelding surface before it.
A hard floor holds up under pain better than a soft mattress.
It feels like I feel. A concrete platform that doesn't give way even if my soul caves in.