States of being.

Every morning I wake in the dark and walk down my stairs, outside, across the driveway, and into my kitchen to make coffee. One hot beverage is not enough, so I’ve started making hot ginger lemon honey as well, which seems to keep me healthy if I drink it every day. I walk down to my studio with a mug in each hand, and start my work morning.

After a while, Isaac finds me here. He walks into the room in one of a few ways. Singing, whining, half-asleep and looking for a cuddle, or chatting. I love seeing him for the first time in the morning. (Especially if it is after 8:00 and I’ve gotten a lot of work done—but anytime, really.)

Later, I walk back up to the house to make breakfast.

I wander out to the garden to find greens for lunch. I make Isaac breakfast or maybe Kenya does, or maybe he makes his own breakfast. I move into the next part of the day: either teaching a homeschool group made up of my kids and other middle schoolers and high schoolers, or heading to Shekina for gardening or meditation. We’re back to a full life. Every day contains a universe of moments that require my love and attention. Sometimes, if I haven’t rested enough and things get crazy, it feels like I am being pulled in every direction. Sometimes, I feel like the most blessed woman in the world. Both are absolutely true.

I have noticed, in this life as a follower of Christ, that the flow of grace is strong, and the need to give is strong. Both are strong, there is no getting around it. Sometimes we may need to use every bit of strength we have and go to sleep trusting there will be more for the next day. This is how Annie Dillard recommends that we live as artists, that we use all we have, because more will come, more will flow. And yet, I am learning about the importance of leaving something in the bucket for emergency. I actually can’t use it all up because maybe there will be a surprise email that takes emotional energy, or a teenager to talk with late at night.

Leaving enough space and not being afraid to use the flow of grace that I have. Can both be truth?

There is no specific way, I guess, to live.

Our hopes fly high, and then they dive back down. To prevent this, our instincts can be to stop hoping.

But I don’t think that is the best way. I hope. I hold hope closely, like my babies when they were small. I hold it against my body to keep it warm. I imagine it growing strong. In the last few days I have had to retreat into my heart to hold hope close. It’s okay to retreat. This also is true.

I know that I need to start my next novel. I love writing, love drafting (even though it is difficult) because it is like dreaming while awake. I leave the confines of the physical world and live in other spaces, other lives. But today, I reach in and find the barest scrapings of ability. Did I use it all up? Was I wrong about how much I could spend?

This is the constant back and forth of my life. Trying to decide what to commit to involves a hundred different questions about capability. And often I just don’t know the answers. I don’t want to avoid risk, because it kills creativity and a life of wonder. But I’ve learned lessons about over-extending and the toll it takes. From what I read about motherhood and art, or motherhood and anything really, we all ask these questions.

For now… I want to get up when it’s dark and write. Dream and write. Fill up that well with beauty. Love my family and community well. Learn to be loved. Sleep well, hold it all lightly, and learn new ways to be free.

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