A couple of posts ago, I wrote out of a sense of deep restlessness and anxiety about my life. Tonight I'm seized with the conviction that my life is wonderful. The stark contrast between these two reminds me that even the hard seasons don't last; that truth is really worth pursuing because it's there all the time, both in pleasant times and painful ones.
I spent this weekend making new friends. I never get over the thrill of liking and being liked by new people, of deepening new friendships. I love moving past the basics and addressing the great questions. "Who are you, really?" There is so much life in that.
I returned on Monday to what I thought would be the humdrum of everyday life. Then I went to my nanny job and took my boys (6 and 3 years old) to the pool, and the 6 year old was so excited that I'd brought my swimsuit so I could get in the water with him. He kept saying, "This is a great day!" I don't think there's anything more humbling in my life than being loved by those boys. They give love so simply that it overwhelms every twisted notion the world concocts of earning and deserving.
Today I went in to my tutoring job and returned to the project of calculating and recording final grades, sorting and organizing papers, and filing the aforementioned papers. Doesn't sound super exciting, but I'm good at it and I love it and I rocked it today.
Then came House Church. House Church is always wonderful, but tonight was especially so. For each person's birthday, we go around and everyone says something he or she loves about that person. Everybody always pretends to hate it. I even pretended to dread it a little bit. But the not-so-secret secret is that everybody loves being known, and a room full of people telling you the things they love about you, even if it makes you blush a little, gives so much security and comfort. It's ridiculous. People need to talk more often about why they love each other. Then we talked about prayer requests, and we talked about Narnia, and about a ton of other hilarious, wonderful things. After we were done, I went into the kitchen to wash some dishes. Monica sat down at her piano and started to play and sing.
I don't know why I have epiphanies when I'm washing dishes, but I do. I stood there listening to Monica sing, and I realized I was just ridiculously happy. I decided I'd write about it when I got home, and from that moment until this one, I mulled over my wonderful things, and I collected some more.
When I finished the dishes, I went to sit next to Monica at the piano, and picked out some bits of harmony to the song she was singing. When I left her house, I could hear frogs singing, and the air was cool and soft, and there was a crescent moon in the sky. On the drive home, a song kept running through my head, one that my mom's friend, Aunt Kay, used to sing to us in her beautiful, classic soprano:
Make new friends,
But keep the old;
One is silver
And the other gold.
At home, my cat was waiting for me at the door (she comes running when she hears the key in the lock) and she reproached me vociferously for leaving her for so long.
And now I'm here at my desk, and the light is dim and dreamy. The clock is ticking and the world is quiet, and I'm pretty sure there are bunnies out on the lawn. I'm surrounded by books, and I'm so aware of how loved I am.
I'm happy tonight.
