A few words typed and then deleted again. Some days with many pages in the journal, several days without. Over and over again I look at this blank screen—words that were in my head to write while I was in the midst of living life have vanished as soon as I open the laptop up. Words that were so poetic and eloquent that flooded my head while I was on a (slow) run among the yellow aspens and dying tall grass and brilliant blue Colorado sky, or that were on the tip of my tongue as the toddlers at the breakfast table said cute things and made me laugh…but sit down to write and share and they are all gone. It gets frustrating sometimes, because it is my job to tell stories! It is my job, and my passion no less, to notice life, to notice the hand of God in the everyday and the big things just the same.
Sometimes, though, it is best to just accept the fact that not everything NEEDS to be instantly shared. Sometimes those sweet moments with the babies or across the table with a friend sharing coffee can just be taken in. Mulled over. Treasured in the heart. Sometimes, it’s best not to share everything right away because maybe I haven’t fully understood what God is forming or teaching or revealing in the season. Life, friendship, growth and good poetry all have the common thread—none are instant. They take time. Like tea to steep or bread to rise, it’s good to simply let them have their time to fully become.
And so, this month, I have had a thousand small moments to share. Now that I am writing, I feel like I cannot… they are simply my little moments to treasure in my heart and savor a bit longer and then we will see if anything more profound grows out of them. Life is a procession of portrait sessions, babysitting, coffee dates, Bible studies, evening runs, and a thousand little interactions in between. The aspens are vibrant yellows and oranges, the wind is blowing outside and sending them on their way. My grandparents’ garden finally gave up the last of its raspberries, and they were like devouring candy. I am living with friends and we stay up in the evenings after the children have gone to bed, telling stories and laughing about the day. I am called “Kafryn” once again by the various small children in my life, some of whom call me “Auntie Kafryn”, and this continues to melt my heart. Last week, a small blonde girl introduced me to her fairy world, and stepping into an imaginary land for even a second was life-giving. Today I had a deep conversation with a 14-month old across the dinner table, where he simply nodded yes to everything I shared and then turned his head and looked skeptically at me out of one eye. I held my newest “nephew” for hours and hours last weekend because even at a month old he’s definitely an extrovert and didn’t want to miss any fun with such nonsense as sleeping.
Life is settled into a peaceful waiting room. Not rushed, not anxious. Not all the things need to be shared, some of it is still too deep and precious to put out there for critique. The question of “How is it to be back in Vail?” and “How is support raising going?” are strange and ambiguous to answer…but there is peace in both and no anxiety. I’m good with that. There seem to be seasons where it’s better to simply close the laptop and be fully present with those around you, look them in the eye, hear their hearts. Be here now. I think that this is such a season for me, and that is why I can hardly find words when I want them to easily come.