When I am deeply distressed, mourning, or upset, I tend to take greater notice of mundane details. The texture of a chair, the smell of a room or the shape of a table leg. I’m not mourning but I’m empathetic to a fault at times. I’ve been following the Storm Sandy news really closely. I can almost imagine myself there. Having to leave my home, knowing the rushing water will wash it away. Hearing about a neighbor or friend-of-a-friend who was hurt or killed. Trying to calm my family and my own heart. Grief, pain and fear. I’ve been praying for those who are living out the worst of this storm. Even though I am over 2,000 miles away, I’m absurdly confident is God’s ability to traverse that distance pretty quickly.
I slept poorly, knowing thousands of others were probably not sleeping well either. Being in this frame of mind allows me to see those life-details that are so easy to miss. And in turn, I am feeling appreciative of the texture, smell and look of my life. Simple.
Mornings. Coffee. Water. Laundry. Light. Pillows. Clouds. Drawers. Bread. Walks.
I walked into our bedroom and saw Gideon, sprawled out, not a single burden to carry. I thought of this poem. A perfect reflection of my mood.
Welcome Morning, by Anne Sexton
There is joy in all
in the hair I brush
In the cannon towel, newly washed, that I rub my body with
In the chapel of eggs I cook
In the outcry from the kettle that heats my coffee
In the spoon and chair that cry “Hello there Anne”
In the god head of the table I set my silver, plate, cup upon
All this God, right here in my pea-green house
And I mean, though often forget,
to give thanks.
To faint down by the kitchen table
in a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds at the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.
So while I think of it
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken,
The joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard, dies young.