I was doing so well with blog posts for a time, and time, or lack thereof, is killing me. I always try prioritizing journal, anyway, so I suppose as long as I get journaling time in, I'm not completely at a loss. There are always choices, I suppose. I can either play soccer in the rain with the best of people, or not; I can enjoy delicious food with friends I will not see again this year, or not; I can enjoy the company of friends for tea and swedish pancakes and books and entertainment and long conversations into the night, or not; I can tell stories to friends that take three hours, delaying the inevitable tragedy in a rising storm of climactic peril, torturing them in Arabian Night's fashion, or not. These choices are not difficult. But sometimes the things I miss are equally pleasant, in their time: reading, writing, introvert time (scarce, these days), listening-to-the-rain-time.
There are always opportunities missed in either direction. The drizzling rain created the most dazzling of rainbows over the grassy park, shooting out from the pines and firs in a glorious array of colors that arced against the sky. Then, when the sun set, the sky assumed a rare pinkish hue, almost fuchsia, that sparked the clouds alight like a pillar of flame. It brought to mind the Exodus of the Israelites: what would that have been like, a pillar of flame by night? As a child, I always imagined a tornado of flame - how cool is that? Digressions. If I had stayed home and read, I might have been recharged, but surely would not have enjoyed the exquisite sunset, the chance to run in the rain, the delightful squish of grass between my toes, the holler of happy voices playing soccer, the joy of being with friends and telling stories, the love of praying, holding hands, and asking God for a glorious game.
I also had to say goodbyes this week, which is bittersweet.
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