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The Days

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I found this butterfly on the sidewalk one day. It was lifeless perfection. I couldn’t help but wonder if it just fell out of the sky mid-flight when the end came.  It feels like that every time someone I know dies. The end comes abruptly and unexpectedly. It catches in my throat when I think about it. Sometimes there is no warning at all.  When Dale’s dad died, I kept thinking, “That’s it. He crossed the finish line without seeing it coming.” There was no time to get better at living. There was no grand finale. It was game over. I’ve always lived with this idea that someday I’ll feel like I’ve arrived on a plateau where I can say, “This is it! This is the place I’ve been working toward all these years.” I’m starting to believe that doesn’t exist here. God designed us to faithfully walk with Him, day by day, through mountains and valleys, good times and bad, always moving but never arriving.  With that knowledge, I want my regular, ordinary everydays to bring glory to the...
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Bread

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I'm stealing away for a moment from the fast pace of our new life here because I can't bear to be away too long. The days race past and a walk feebly by the computer, gritting my teeth with resolution not to sit and write because there are other things pressing. I'm baking bread these days. Last week I baked a my first loaf of French bread and it was spectacular. I contemplated taking a picture of it; it was so lovely and delectable, but I decided to do it too late, after it have been torn into. My idea is, in an effort to save money, bake all the bread and freeze the milk. I have to go to the store every other day for milk or bread. Seriously, we go through so much of both that I can't go two days without going to the store. And I've realized that I spend about $50 everytime I go to the store. Now that's not always, but generally speaking, it's true. I have not disciplined myself to stick to the list yet and here's why. I get there, see fifteen...
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I had this great idea...

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My reading is slow and it doesn't produce a lot of sharing opportunities. When I was working nights and had four hours to read at a time, usually more than that, I could really digest a lot of information quickly and formulate a nicely rounded opinion or theory from what I had read. Now reading one chapter a day, it's like the thinking happens in spurts after I've gathered enough information to make a collective thought throughout the week. Everyday I sit in this room and type various items that may be of interest and I'm surrounded by books. Chuck, my personal carpenter at one time, built me these fantastic seven-foot shelves that require several burly young men to lift, and we've managed to fill every shelf including the very top that really isn't a shelf at all, with books of all genres and themes and generations. I really toil over whether my simplistic writing is of enough value to sacrifice the time when I could be reading. And indeed, I believe it is...
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