Frozen in TimePosted: May 18, 2012
A moment. This morning. Albus sits at my feet, calm (worn and wearied is perhaps more accurate) from an hour of frenzied tussling with the rug and a water bottle. Outside, I see workers below me, building a veranda on a nearby rooftop. The sound of hammering is persistent, the low thud of background noise. It’s cloudy, hazy, cool in the way peculiar to thick and humid days.
I linger over my coffee, trying to discern what is inside my heart. Truth be told, I’m not sure. We head home (what a loaded term that one is for us!) in 10 days, back to our mamas and doctor appointments and siblings and the brightly fierce sunshine of the South. I’m ready. My list of things to wrap up here is long, still. Good-byes to friends who, when school lets out in July, will be scattered across the globe. A party to celebrate the soon-arrival of two sweet babies. Presents for family. Next year’s rent to be paid and visas to be handled and plans for the fall to be set. Worries about our tickets and stress over my own forgetful hastiness in myriad tiny details and one last week of walks and cuddles with the pupster. (We can’t bring him home, but no worries, he’ll be waiting for us the moment we get back.)
Trying, in the midst of that, to just be here for a few more days. To stop, to feel the breeze, to be and not just to do. To remember Who my fortress is, and to rest there. To quiet my soul like a weaned child, to quell the anxious thoughts that rise up in my soul over the most quibbling of matters. Striving, this morning, to go out and accomplish what must be done with a heart that is still.
To let this day be simple and joyous.
“I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens, but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.”