Going in the Closet....

Every few weeks, I crave solitude.  The ritual of getting ready to go somewhere and then going somewhere starts to feel like a train I can't get off of.  Even for good things.  So.  I take my ticket and exit the train for awhile.  Last night I gathered all things honey and grain and yeast and turned on my music and made bread to bless with.  The warm smell of wheatberries going through my grain mill brought back memories of six hungry faces waiting to eat the finished product on a summer afternoon after homeschooling was done for the day.  This night, though, my girl came alongside of me and washed the dishes as I created dirty ones and asked me questions about what and how to as she watched over my shoulder.  It felt good and right to have my hands in bread dough again.  I kneaded and shaped and hummed happy.  When the timer went off, the girl and I grabbed a loaf and cut it open right down the middle and I held a spoon up and watched the honey drizzle on top of a piece.  "That'd make a pretty picture," she said, and we both sat quietly and "mmm'd" at each other as we ate.

This morning, my girl still sleeps and I let her.  I grab my Bible and crawl into my big under -the -stairs closet and sit on blankets spread on the floor and leaned against the wall.  "Shalom", I sang to Him and looked at my hearts' prayers taped up haphazardly and whispered them again.  I cry, for no real reason; some happy, some longing, some feeling what others' feel.....and it makes me know I'm alive and in the fight.

When the girl wakes up, maybe we'll take a walk and finish off our loaf of bread set aside for us.  And maybe this time we'll take a picture of the honey drizzling as the sun hits it from the window.  Getting off the train days make you take notice of those things.