I can feel its invisible presence this week. Like the hot air filling up the inside of a balloon. Only instead of lifting me off the ground in freedom – it feels like I might explode any second.
That metaphor took a weird turn and I suddenly feel like I’m talking about pregnancy. Which is something I have zero experience with. However, there is something I do have a lot of experience with: anxiety.
I haven't been journaling a lot lately. I’ve been feeling a little bit paralyzed I guess. And yet there's a lot going on inside me that feels like it needs to be expressed. Or something.
I have a friend who marks the passing of the year by two things. Either "Christmas is coming,” or (when Christmas is over and we are sad,) “the days are getting longer.” It has become an unspoken tradition between us to send each other notes marking the coming and going of these seasons. Reminding each other of the good that has been, and the good that is yet to come.
"Doesn't it just fill you with hope?" Keri asks me as we walk slowly out the front doors. I can tell we're both a little reluctant to leave.
And no wonder. It's been one of those days, where we get to glimpse behind the curtain. The intangible became tangible. As we listened to their stories, it was clear my heart wasn't the only one melting and leaking out my eyes.
Today is Ash Wednesday. I only know this because I keep stumbling across blogs about it.
Lent wasn't a part of my faith tradition growing up, but I've learned some interesting things about it in recent years. I'm beginning to appreciate the motivation of those who use the season as an opportunity to prepare their hearts in the weeks leading up to the celebration of Easter.
Nevertheless, I never quite feel prepared for Lent when it shows up...
Did you know watching the Olympics can be dangerous? I mean really, one minute I'm enjoying a perfectly innocent Bobsled race and the next minute? I'm crying. Not like, "my eyes are watering" kind of crying. More like the ugly cry.
Wham! Didn't see that coming...
I grabbed a handful of chocolate chips and curled up in my favorite chair with a blanket. The Olympics are good company on a Friday night at the end of a long week, when you feel a bit like a zombie.
I watched Patrick Chan talk about his tireless work to perfect his performance since the last Olympics, competing against the the hopeful 19 year old from Japan for the Gold. The announcers detailed every victory and defeat of each contender as they performed, reminding the audience of the marks the judges would deduct for each bobble, every misstep, every fall.
It sounds strangely familiar. It reminds me of the continuous play by play commentary that goes on in my head on the hard days...