Well, well, well.
I do suppose it's time for another update.
A good perspective births a good life. I'm working on perspective here in B-town. Searching for the beauty in the quiet life. It's here. I've had a lot of time to look, believe me. Lots of time.
I am not a full-fledged substitute teacher yet, but I am well on my way. All the paperwork is turned in, and now we wait for the state of Missouri to examine my fingerprints and confirm that I am not a criminal. Meanwhile, I pray and rest and bake peanut butter toffee cookies. Peter tells me the cookies are awful and then he eats five. I love my brother. Really. I do.
As for the beauty.
Bribing my dad to help me rearrange the furniture in my room. Now my bed sticks out from the corner like an awkward teenager at a school dance. It's a trade-off. Slightly un-aesthetic bed position being the cost. Reward being facing eastward windows, meaning I can see the sun rise when I wake up in the morning. The Ozarks are having some mighty nice sunrises.
Taking a run through the city park. This park, Dunnegan by name, appears in my childhood memories as far back I can reach. Even in winter it's beautiful. A friend and I were talking the other night about the glories of winter trees. Their bareness compels me to notice them more. When they are green and full, I see a mass. One big green blob. Sans leaves, I see shape, I see shadow, I see arms reaching to touch periwinkle February sky.
Celebrating life with others. A wedding in St. Louis for a much loved cousin. In a pew with my father and mother and brother and sister and niece (call that pew "the row of those I love most") and watching commitment and honor and love be exchanged for keeps. A dinner with a good friend. She doesn't mind new recipes, so I go wild. We light the candles and post-dessert, take funny pictures with her digital camera. "Act like someone just gave you a million dollars." "Now like you haven't slept in 72 hours." Ahh. This is good.
Here I am. Chapters are being closed. New pages blank before me. Risking on love again. Sara Groves sings, and I listen. "Even though your heart feels raw, love is still a worthy cause."
I'm finding a bottom line in this mixture of days. Here, love is still a worthy cause. If I can give no other objective or goal for my time at home, let it be that my heart presses on in love. James says it well: we consider blessed those who have persevered.