I’m in one of those moods where every interaction seems like the most beautiful thing to have ever occurred. It is at times like these that I want to write forever. Everything I see is poetry. Everything I hear is music. The world seems to be exactly as it should be. I feel great joy and deep sorrow at the same time, but both of them feel good because I am at such peace.
Tonight I went out for coffee by myself. I do that from time to time now, and it is a somewhat strange experience. For one, I am amazed that I actually have the confidence to do it. I am alone, ordering my drink, and I sit down on the leather couch to read my book. I am aware that people might be noticing that I am alone, on a Saturday night, sitting in Starbucks with a book. But my confidence says, what better thing would I be doing? Tonight I was reading Anne Lamott. Reading definitely helps you to feel like you are out for coffee with a good friend, especially someone who writes as honestly as Lamott. I’m pretty sure she’d want me to call her Anne though. So I will. Going out for coffee with Anne was the best thing I could have done tonight.
When I left the coffee shop a young woman held the door open for me. It has been raining on and off today and the ground is wet. It is dark, even though it’s only 7:30 and I understand that the season is changing. The wind blows cold on my toes as I am still wearing my flip flops. Maybe I am reluctant to accept the new season? I drive home in silence, listening to the rhythm of my heart mix with the beat of my breath and the sound of rain water underneath the tires. I feel as though I am a character in a great book, the plot unfolding as I venture through it.
And it is true. I am a character in an amazing story and in the past few weeks I have come to feel that God is trying to tell me something. The weather is changing and so is my heart. I’m not sure what is in store, but everything is beautiful, everything is peaceful, everything is right. The taste of chai tea on my tongue, my cold toes, the sound of the trees rustling in the wind. God is writing, and man, He’s a great author.
(does this count as my gridblog on my favourite book, John?)