I used to attempt to force myself to be overly productive on Mondays. I felt, I guess, that now that the weekend was over and the worship had concluded I could get back to “work”.
Now, I let myself sit and breathe a bit more on Mondays, recovering in silence what was blissfully spent on Sunday.
Today, I’m reading back over some old journals, examining who I was in relationship to who I am and seeking to see anew the well-trod path of grace that has been travelled in these years. In an entry somewhere between November 8, 2009 and December 27, 2009, I had written the poem I’m sharing below, titled “I Forget”.
I hold her in
The brown rocking
Chair that once sat
In my grandmother’s house
In the rocking chair
Her chest against mine
Her outstretched arms
End in lightly curled
Fists barely touching my shoulders
I remember this is not forever
And I forget
All the wrong
She did that day
What Was I Saying?
Now, I really have forgotten whatever it was I thought that my daughter had done that day. Now, I remember how important it is just to hold her and be near her, so that the parts of us that are deeper than rules and expectations and words can have a chance to sit together and remember what is most important.
In the floor next to me, my dog is asleep. It is nice to have her with me today, to just share this space with her.
But there are many people who I share space with weekly who could also use the fullness of my presence just as I could benefit from the fullness of who they are. The world needs more from me, more from us, than the conversations we have. The world needs and the kingdom requires that we sit with each other a little longer. We will, I suspect, begin to forget what it is we thought was so different or wrong about one another in the first place.