I fight with the daily-ness of life. I wrestle tubs of laundry to the dirty laundromat where I curse a
fallen towel and the fact that a quarter only buys me 5 minutes of dryer time.
And I wonder where, amidst this mess, I could find the bravery to say a quivering "yes" to the bigger things of life.
I look across
the folding table at the laundromat and I see an abandoned single tiny white
baby sock, impossibly small to my eyes unaccustomed to baby things, and I think
of the family who left it behind. The story is untold. And the untold story
behind someone else’s laundry makes me realize that my own dirty laundry isn't
such an imposition. Maybe it speaks of bigger things.
This blessing of a curse of
having to get OUT of my own house and INTO life with other people to do
something as simple as wash my laundry sometimes it feels like too
much of a metaphor, you know? I like to sit quietly in my quiet house and
feel "lonely." Sometimes being out in a crowd,
with a bunch of people screaming and screeching and practically blasting life
from a bullhorn makes me feel at once lonelier and startled and scared, like a fawn seeing things out in the world for what they are: that not all humans
are friendly, and
cars, with their interesting lights and fascinating sounds are actually quite
dangerous to a little fawn, and are best avoided.
God calls me to things outside of
myself, outside of my home where I find company in haphazard
laundry flung over the sofa, because when this place is fully clean it seems
sterile and empty and lifeless. Much like how I feel when I’ve reached the edge of
being able to decipher the difference in my life between what is clean and what
is dirty and what needs to be washed and what just needs to be hung up again and brushed off.
It is difficult, this deciphering, sometimes. It makes words difficult. It makes it nearly impossible for me to find a way
to utter "yes."
I have to step outside for a moment, and run off the front
porch into the clear, lukewarm October evening and spin around and look at the
stars and it takes being reminded by stars and abandoned baby socks in laundromats to make me contemplate
that maybe I have no air left in my lungs to say yes too loudly, and certainly not enough to shout it
over my life.
Maybe, I think, under the stars, just maybe I have enough to say
it with my heart to the God of the heavens who can hear our heart-language, unspoken but felt,
as the moon rises early.
//
xo
Natalie
4 comments:
You did a beautiful job with your first 'Five Minute Friday' post. Keep up the great writing!
I know that desire to sit and be lonely as well as being even lonelier in the midst of a crowd. I am thankful and blessed to openly speak those feelings to the God that hears.
So glad you joined in this week my friend. Your words speak truth and vulnerability, strength and innocence. Well done!!
Absolutely beautiful. There have been times when I've seen that abandoned baby sock and crumble, wondering what that life is like. I love that you notice it too, though our stories and thoughts may be different. And I too, have cursed that time and cost of those stupid dryers!
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