What a blessed, beautiful, post-Thanksgiving day.
There were trees in glorious color. I ran and walked, three miles, and all along the way I soaked in brilliant foliage and bright blue sky.
I got the down time I needed – no meetings, no appointments, no timeline – to process a buildup of grief and stress that had taken up residence in my brain and, to some degree, broken my heart. Like a ping-pong ball, a bundle of emotions, facts, feelings, disappointments, and sorrow had its way with me for weeks now, pinging its way around my skull, leaving jet trails that alternately kept me buzzed or in a fog. I knew I needed to get outside, to let my thoughts wander, to take hold of certain events and emotions and give myself time to look, consider, evaluate. Many times today I felt as if I was holding my heart in my hands, carefully conversing. Pursuing wisdom, seeking discernment.
It was good, this long walk. I cried all the way home. And I experienced two definitive moments of grace, things that were too sharply defined to be coincidences. I see them as grace, proof that the universe is good, evidence that I am seen and heard, that it all matters.
Perhaps I’ll write about those two moments another time. Tonight, I write to say that the sky was brilliant, our date night movie (Knives Out) was excellent, and that somebody who knows me took the time to send a postcard, and Somebody who sees me knew that today’s mail would be the perfect time to slip it into my hands.
I am grateful for both.
THE POSTCARD I RECEIVED:
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