I have this post in my drafts that says nothing but
“when I was a young warthog”
I can’t remember why I wrote that or where I was going with it…
and every time I look at it I am surprised again.
It’s kindof like when you go on a trip and think you will have all this relaxing time,
even with a full schedule.
And when you find yourself so exhausted you can barely move
you wonder why that bible hasn’t been cracked open,
despite it waiting humbly in your purse for 2 weeks.
Why the blog is neglected yet again
and why you retreat into survival mode so very often.
Why do I not anticipate these things?
Why does the warthog draft surprise me every time?
We’ve been on holiday, to the west where there are canyons and mouse ears
and most definitely the worse of the heats (dry) instead of our usual wet kind.
We’ve slept in many different beds, eaten many smores,
laughed and hiked and gone days without bathing.
We’ve dressed up like a bow-tied professors and pregnant saloon girls
and watched a brother wed in a western fashion.
We’ve seen the lava rocks of southern Utah
and the north side of the Grandest Canyon that I’m certain most people haven’t seen,
on account of the extra 250 miles to get there.
We saw Saturn (as in, the planet) on a new moon night
with astronomers giggling with passion
and giant telescopes to share their love.
We awed at the milky way with a naked eye
and promised God to learn more about His stars
and felt a new celestial passion stir inside like a fire.
We saw family from both sides,
extending way out the tree of cousins and uncles
and hugged a bit longer at the goodbyes.
It’s the kind of trip where we know it won’t happen again.
At least not like this.
My growing belly is one of three in my immediate family,
in a few short months the grandbabies grow from 5 to 8
and the world will be new and different
and never like this.
So we’ve enjoyed the “this” and although we adore the memories,
we woke yesterday with tears for our own bed and our own city
and our own non-schedule.
Even when I can’t write here I sneak in and keep an eye on the online world
(when not in mountains where the internet can’t penetrate)
and long for hugs and words
and to leave you a comment to know I care.
This is a strange season, this year.
And baby and I are observing more than participating.
I’m learning patience
and to not be jealous for you
and to hold you in my prayers when that’s all I can do.
Here’s to holidays.