i walk the quiet streets with a quiet daughter who herself is hidden. we do school and swim and she rides horses again.
she asks for real school.
this girl is versed in being unrecognized, unknown, in being misunderstood and dismissed – even by those closest to her.
i always hesitate to give up my life in this way. in the hidden way, the quiet and the disregarded ways that seem to interest god.
there’s little impressive about being in these four walls wrapped in blankets and talking about spelling. there’s nothing grand about peeling potatoes for soup for the neighbors. there are only the bones and sharp edges being rolled flat by the wooden rolling pin, the one with the red handles, by unseen hands.
the rain has been falling four days running. the leaves turn brown under the weight of drops that magnify their spines. it smells like fall and its unlikely beauty calls to me and i want to be outside, damp and chilled, to be a part of the transformation of the world.
i feel crushed and quiet. a part of things bigger than i know. all of my striving spirit is ending now and i wake up to your plans, lord. i wake up to your day and not to mine.
there are gifts from the hand of god found outside that no human mind can replicate – and it’s out there, there alone, that i’m finding peace and the joy talked about in the book of psalms.
rain in september, mazzy’s face – like a strong shot of whiskey, i take in the gifts and feel the pure inebriation of the holy. the honest offerings of god in the hidden places. they are too loud for the stage.
let’s just be quiet today and walk among them. he knows we’re here and it is enough.