Merci

The last few days have been a string of ughs and uhhhs. Eyes heavy, distressed, a combination of misfired shampoo, rubbing eyes with chilli-covered hands, flies flying into my face , and a sticky lack of sleep. Lids refusing to stay open far enough to see. Arms useless, shoulders tense. Ribs aching with too much something.

Hhhhhh. . .

I wrote three letters yesterday, before I had to teach a score of young things. Two of the notes were thank you notes, and the other was a three page complaint. I felt the difference of thanks and complaint acutely. I muttered and stormed my way to the letter box at 1:40 in the afternoon, knowing I had to come back to teach piano, and I just didn't want to. I had 20 minutes of freedom. So I continued on, huffing, puffing, scowling.

Now, here I will mention, it is often in these moments that I pray for beautiful things from nature, or a little helpless animal to be placed divinely in front of me so that I have a release for my tension, or some sort of catharsis.

Yesterday, I didn't pray for that. Often they don't show up anyway. And I'm a grown-up. I was going to sort this out on my own. I wanted to grumble.

And then.

From somewhere in my peripheral vision, my eyes-- those hurting, aching, worn-out eyes-- stumbled on the most beautiful thing I'd seen for a long time. Upside down. A nest. I went over to it, half-crying with it's perfect wholeness, turned it over, and found myself standing there with my letters in one hand and the most beautiful bird's nest in the other. A few moments passed. Still there. I had to teach. Sshhh... The complaint went away. Relief and release replaced it. The rest of the walk to the post box was thankful; thankful for the nest, thankful for God's sharp knowledge of where I was at and what would graciously, lovingly heal that moment for me. Thankful that I am not alone in those moments where I lose my sense.

Thank you.