I think about my boy out in Montana, and the fact that he is probably awake in his Dan in Real Life house that he shares with others (If you've not seen that movie, do); where the laundry room is part of his room, and that it suits him and pleases him to be there, learning life and sorting out truth.
I consider that my granddaughter, Beatrice, is growing inside her mother; my beautiful girl, and that I get to meet her, at least from the outside bump, in just a few weeks. Her mama and daddy will be coming "home" from Denver for a few days and I will gather friends they know, and some they don't, and some I barely know myself, to celebrate life.
I hear my daughter, my last one at home, quietly moving and breathing in her bed in the next room. What a week she's had; her first "real" school in a building other than home, with pencils and lockers and bells. She and I compared notes at the end of each day, checking for signs of growth and adventure.
It's Sunday right now and in a few hours we will make our way to church, where others have gathered from life lived, some with bumps and bruises, others with glorious tales to tell. Oh, that we can be real with each other and find the courage to open the windows of our souls and not trample too hard or tread so gingerly that no one can feel that we've been there.
We'll stop at the school today, up the hill from church, my girl and I, and put the banner we made up on the wall of the spirit store to challenge the kids who walk by the window; to love them with words that make their heart think on purpose.
It's now 4 a.m. and I wish I had oreos and I wonder why my utility sink is stopping up and did enough water drain out so I can finish the load of laundry I started last night? Maybe I'll go check and make myself a chocolate chip waffle while I'm up.
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