a million things

There are a million things I did not do this weekend. Starting the list with laundry, sweeping, and bed-making, I could go on for quite some time. Let's see. There's the supper co-op supper I've yet to cook. The mounds of reading I've yet to do. That bag business I hoped to start. The bathroom I meant to clean. Etc, etc, etc.

But let me tell you where I am right now. I'm sitting on my front porch. There's a big mason jar full of sweet, iced black tea on the table next to my cushioned chair. The sun is setting, and dark is coming on. Candles are lit. The rain brought in the breeze. Ingrid Michaelson is playing (thank you for taking me back, Pandora). And I've got an acorn in my hands (currently set on my keyboard) that tells me that summer is over... and Fall has come!

Despite the million things, there were important milestones passed this weekend. I celebrated, and took my first breath since the start of my third year of graduate school. I took time to be with friends that make life good. I cared for others. I labored over the word of God, and I let the Holy Spirit in, to speak through me-- and together we moved (quickly!) through my first sermon. I've become a preacher (broad claim-- SO much more work to be done, areas to improve!). I continued in certain commitments to be a better steward of creation, and I began thinking of new ones. I dreamed big dreams.

Sometimes I think it doesn't matter how many lists that I make to keep me 'on track': it's the moments that I can't think to list that make life worth living. It's not taking out the garbage, changing the oil, or working on the degree plan that keeps me going. It's the impulsive things, the things we do at the urging of the Holy Spirit, or a sense of adventure, or a need that cannot be explained but must be acted upon.

It's deciding on a drive home that it's time to make a bold statement of commitment, and then walking into Tattoo Paradise in my Sunday best, nervously declaring, "I'm here to get my nose pierced."

It's leaving a meeting with a million new things to add to the list in progress, but ditching the responsibility to climb in the back of someone's truck to enjoy the beauty of the end of day with friends.

It's reaching across the table to uncover Scripture and understanding that it's time to take a bold step ahead on an uncharted path: then agreeing to preach with no preparation but the assurance of the Holy Spirit.

It's sitting in a car in the rain. Hearing a story of hope. Renewing my belief in the existence and power of love.

It's whatever grand gesture it takes to remind you of the grandest gesture of all: your own creation. It's the big things, or the big little things, or the unexpected things; it's the forgotten things, the take-you-by-surprise things, the remembered things. It's the changing of seasons. The changing of minds. The changing of hearts, and the decisions made in response, shared with others. It's whatever it takes to remember you're alive and living!

Every so often, I understand the need in my life, to participate in a grand gesture. It's so easy here to do so much without doing anything at all, we talk and don't act. We push paper but don't see people. I used to feel bad for the things I would do every so often in response to these areas of disconnect in my life, explaining them away as my three-month need for craziness, or saying "I don't care." But I will own them now-- those acts of minor insanity, yes, desperation, they were responses to my inability to communicate my need to connect with existing as a creation of God. They were all about me making a change, or seeing a change; all frustrated attempts because I got so caught up in the millions of things I had to do, I couldn't see and I couldn't hear and I couldn't feel the millions of things I am. I am. I exist. I will be.

I'm going to change those frustrated attempts. My three-month act of craziness this time will be to rest in the stillness of my own understanding. To make grand gestures, but not out of frustration or misunderstanding. To make them out of readiness to take risks for all the good things in life that make it worth living. To continue to connect with my understanding of creation by taking time to sit on my porch with a glass of tea. I commit myself to celebrating the seasons of my life and all creation-- and all the beauty, hope and a million promises that such celebration will bring.