I have ten minutes, of this day that has been full of good things, to remind myself. To tell the story of what I love, to whisper it and shout it and sing it and write it here without second-guessing. (this is inspired by Lisa-Jo who's teaching us to spin five minutes of joy on Fridays - visit her at The Gypsy Mama).
I love the sound of music in the morning when my muscles stretch and yawn and I remember that the new day is beginning and no one knows what it might hold. I love the promise of a new dress hanging in my closet that fits like a glove and tells me in the deep corner of doubt that yes, I am becoming beautiful and yes, someday my eyes will catch up with the sun and the light and the truth and I'll see it for myself.
I love to write and slip these words into your day. I love to imagine who you are and where you read this, whether you drink dry cappuccino or you drink a glass of white wine or whether you scroll through with popsicle stained fingers from a wrestling match with a three year old. I love to imagine what your story is. Whether you are in the wild forest of first love or in the quiet night with fireflies twinkling wondering if God will ever tell you where He wants you to go to grad school, or in the stage where kids are growing like weeds and their shoes never fit them.
And let's tumble out the stories of what I'm learning to love: connecting social democracy and communism in post-WWII Europe, sorting out the difference between Jacques Maritain and Reinhold Niebuhr as political thinkers and theologians, the joy of reading about Europe and the 1929 Concordat between Pope Pius XI and Mussolini. I'm deep in love with history.
I love poetry. I love how Edward Hirsch is the best birthday present. How Rainer and Pablo and Mary become names of hearts that echo my own and how their words promise me that the world will never not be miraculous. I love cupcakes on sunny days and dancing on the 18th century floorboards and singing like the world depended on it.
I love the line, your one wild and precious life.
I love to reach my hand over to touch someone's arm and say, "I'm here." I love to listen without looking at my phone. I love to hold your heart in my heart.
I have only one minute to say it, and it's this? That the world dips and soars in the blazing light of being made new again and there is no hurricane he can't mend and I have seen Him? And His voice is the only thing that comforts and quiets this turbulent heart?
And He is who He promised. And He is that good. And He is that faithful.
Love, always, from this learning heart,