There's a girl in my tree, a toddler in my lap, a dog at my feet, a pre-teen sitting not totally close to me but not so far away either, a five-year-old who doesn't want to hold my hand but keeps forgetting and grabbing it again, an eight-year-old washing dishes while standing on a skateboard in my kitchen. There's the most amazing man with his arm around me as we walk down the street, friends on the Internet, family on Skype cameras, beloveds on their way to us, new neighbors and friends around every corner.
There's homemade jam in the fridge, bread (not homemade) in the bread basket, a banjo, saz, guitar, violin, ukelele, djembe, and someone's bass guitar in the studio. There are tubes of paint, canvases, pencils, and pens on my desk. There are blank books in nearly every room of my house. There is fabric in my fabric tote, there's paper in the printer, there are edits to be made on my book. There are seeds (real ones) to be held in our hands and planted. There's soil to be dug, there are walls to be built, there is rice to be cooked, there are dreams to be fed and watered and breathed into existence.
There are days. And hours. And they are not scary. (They are not!) They are open and full of every possibility. There is grace and love that fall from the hands of God, his words that enter my ears in the morning when I wake. There is time, and it is not running out. It is full, and we are rich with it and all these other beautiful things, and we will be brave.