Presenting today’s three things I am thankful for:
1) Yoga. This morning a friend gave me some special one-on-one time, guiding me through poses and helping me to breathe. She gave me space to find my body, something I haven’t done in far too long. Then she anointed my head with oil, a citrusy oil that was the first thing I’ve smelled in many days due to this constant head cold. And I felt renewed.
2) Story-telling. We’ve been sharing our autobiographies in CPE, and they have been impactful and meaningful to me in so many ways. Receiving someone’s story is a blessing. To hear and to hold the vulnerable parts of a person’s truth in tension with the brave and tender and strong parts of them as they share with you is an opportunity for intimacy and connection that we don’t often allow ourselves with other human beings. I feel broken open in a lot of ways by their stories. But I also feel more whole than before.
3) Letter-writing. It takes more time and intention than sending a quick email or a facebook message. It means sitting down and being still for long enough to translate thoughts onto paper. I believe it’s an art-form to be able to send a piece of yourself across a great distance and have someone hold that part of you in their hands. I try to save most all of the handwritten letters I get in hopes that one day I will have this amazing collection of thoughts that I can hold and feel and share with my children or grandchildren.
Last night, as Stephan and I were getting ready to read our devotional and turn out the lights, a knock came at the side door and the dogs went wild. This was around 9:30 in the evening, so I immediately became very startled. Stephan threw on a shirt and went to answer the door, and I thought, “If this is a murderer, I will need to have a weapon ready to disable him if he tries to hurt Stephan.” (This is how my brain works. We call it “catastrophization.”) So I grab an 8lb free weight from the closet and tiptoe after Stephan, thoroughly prepared to whack someone in the head if need be. But of course, murderers don’t typically knock politely. It was two police officers. But this fact didn’t settle me, because why are police officers at my door at 9:30 at night? Apparently, they had gotten a 911 call from our roommates phone, and had traced the number to our house. Again, my catastrophic brain thought, “He’s dead in the house with a murderer and we’ve been here all night and we didn’t know it!!!” No. He butt-dialed 911 while out downtown. He came home. He was fine. Everything’s fine.
I’m very glad everything’s fine, so that’s my good memory from the past 24 hours.