Thunder just shook the house, and I’m sitting here rocking back and forth as rumbles hug the air. No, I’m not scared, just gliding in the cushy chair and ottoman we bought when we were expecting Charli.
It’s been a long weekend, filled with car miles, family and fishing. And here I am again after packing and unpacking–back in the normal–with a book mark moved a little farther along in my book club novel over the weekend.
It was nice to find myself sucked into the story, slipping pages into every free minute, regretfully closing the cover when anything else required my attention. A story addict, I love any world that isn’t real. I can’t wait for my next hit, zooming into conflict that I know will be somehow resolved in so many pages.
If only we could hold the remaining pages of life between a thumb and index finger, seeing just what remains, somehow knowing where the plot is going to turn, which key characters will change or leave, and what new conflict will test our courage.
What if we could know? Would it make a difference seeing just how many pages turns were left for us or the ones we love most? Would it help us to attune today with its proper zest?
I did not zest my life well today.
A friend called needing comfort, my help, my listening ear. Feeling wiped from the trip, I gave the bare requirements for phone conversation, “uh huh” and “oh really,” as I tried to console my fussing daughter with my left hand and hold my phone to my ear with my right.
The conversation ended abruptly, shaking my sense of normal the way that this thunder is shaking our house. I so often fail to recognize that life and relationships are fragile things, deserving of care.
No, life’s not always so zesty or so balanced, and we don’t know what’s on the remaining pages. Sometimes there’s nothing to do but lean into the grace that’s always there, like the smooth glide of a rocking chair, the unshakable foundation underneath the things that rattle me like a thunderstorm.