Two days ago, I sipped my coffee on the front porch, basking in the warm sun on bare shoulders. Relishing the quiet, away from the noises of pancake-breakfast behind the slammed-shut front door.
Today, however, the wind whistles beneath grey skies and the freezing cold feels perhaps like a metaphor for my heart. In what I can only assume is an act of anniversary-mercy, Adam agreed to take the kids to school this morning. I shiver at the thought of even getting out from under this blanket snuggled on the couch, and so I sit and think about the ways I feel disconnected. Or maybe too connected. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. My mind flits from one worry to the next, from one book to the next article. I try to read all-of-the-things, edit pictures for work, listen to a podcast, and simultaneously design a logo for the football league we have decided to start in a few weeks. As I sit and shiver and multitask, I find myself surprisingly unable to decipher my own emotions. I think, perhaps, I feel gray simply because the sky beckons me into it with icy pale light. While Sunday dawned cheerful and hopeful, under the light of brash blue skies and warm sun draped casually across my shoulders.
When my children have bad days, or the boys act especially foolish. When the house brims with clutter and the laundry and dishes stack higher than seems possible. On those days the fog drips heavy. But the other days, when Jayci shares with her brother readily; when Caden makes me belly laugh and they play together quietly while I read a good book. Or the days when the teenage boys offer to take out the trash, and chase my children cheerfully and lead them in games of Uno and living-room-basketball alike. These days, my grin comes readily and my responses drip with grace.
Today is Fat Tuesday and my eight year wedding anniversary. There were no flowers today, and tomorrow marks the beginning of Lent. And the words of Pastor Leonce this weekend echo in my heart: untether. Because my heart, my attitude, not to mention my outlook on myself and my children and the day, finds itself tethered to the world. To circumstances and sunshine. To my children's behavior, and to the kiddos "success." To the comments I got when I wrote my heart. To the number of likes on my last instagram photo. To morning coffee and afternoon naps.
And all of this tethering makes it hard to hear. Hard to hear myself, to hear my children, and to hear the voice of the Father. I get confused in the noise, I start thinking I need more. I think I need to do more, be more, buy more. And instead of untethering, I tie more threads to this world.