Bliss and Other Stuff

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Dear Joy,

You know how sometimes, life gets a little too slow, and you’re itching, restless, dying for something to do? And other times, life crashes in on you, and you can’t breathe, and you turn in circles in your living room, because you’re not sure where to even start? Last week, I was the former. This week, I’m the latter. Because of this, I’ve scheduled my life into little tiny segments, micro-scheduled during my three productive hours per day (the ones you wryly mentioned, and that I’m agreeing with and dramatically sobbing over). Unfortunately, “Write blog post” was scheduled for Sunday night, 9-10pm, and my brain wasn’t having it at 9-10pm on Sunday night. Had I clicked “post,” you would have received a half-written description of a recent trip to visit my sister and new niece up in Minnesota. It was the kind of writing that plodded, slowly, painfully, and actually contained the word “salvific.” Be glad I deleted the whole thing.

Instead of all that, you’re getting a series of crisp bullet points. It’s what I have to give you, tonight from 9:45-10:15pm. 

  • The aforementioned trip to my sister Anna’s house: bliss. Alicen, my youngest sister and I, drove to Minnesota for the weekend. We snuggled our new niece, drank coffee, chatted the way three sisters do, and stayed inside for almost 72 hours straight, because the temperature didn’t get above zero the entire time we were there.
  • Did those last 12 words register in your brain? I’m trying to compute “endless summer,” and your sea of green, and maybe you’re trying to remember the last time you felt chilled to the bone. By the way, your writing about “seasons,” in the midst of a single, unending season, was perfect. Unlike this list of bullet points.
  • In my mind, I tried to piggyback off your “I dislike the season of preschool” thought, by empathizing and agreeing, and listing all the things I hate about my own similar season. It got depressing, fast, so I (mentally) trashed it.
  • I love the sound of your preschool, born out of a bit of desperation, and very beautiful. Take pictures! Send me your lesson plans! (You actually don’t have to do either. But I saw a few glimpses on Instagram, and loved it. You are a cool mom.)
  • Whenever I get really busy, I think of all the things I’d rather be doing, and then attempt to do them, while still trying to get my actual work done at the same time. For example: this week, I’m proofreading a commentary on James, and in order to meet my deadline, I’ve got to spend 2 hours a day, plugging away at it. It’s great stuff, but it gets a little tedious (especially at 11pm). So, last Saturday, during my “non-productive hours” with the little guys (which, could be argued, are actually my most productive hours, but please don’t argue that right now), we were at the library, and I picked up a big fat book I’ve been dying to read. I’m a quarter of the way through it now, and 6 hours behind on my commentary. 
  • Bad Sherah.
  • A few weeks ago, a dear friend and I had an excellent conversation late one Friday night, one of those that you really savor for a few days afterword. We talked through a wide range of issues, but a good part of our conversation centered on women and the church. My friend is a passionate feminist, while I come from a more conservative background, and some of her questions have sent me digging for answers. So now I’ve found myself pouring through theological back-and-forths on 1 Timothy 2:9-15, and considering deeper things like biblical authority and the rejection of Pauline logic by many modern theologians.
  • Remember how Marty and I have those late-night toothbrushing bathroom conversations? Consider that last bullet point. Now, pity Marty for a good long while, and tell me to go read Anne of Green Gables, for pete’s sake.

An actual letter, with flow, and plot, and point (!), next time. 

Good morning to you, good night to me,

Sherah