Tonight, I noticed a gem of grace.
I had a precious few hours of alone time in my house. It was quiet. I journaled. I thought.
This #31days thing is stirring the pot a bit; I'm finding some thoughts and emotions and....things...floating to the surface, prompted by my friend Jayne's posts and my friend Diane's posts and the things I'm reading here and maybe, just maybe, by the work of the holy spirit.
Okay. Definitely a spirit thing.
Anyway, the quiet was a gift. I journaled - with a pen and paper - and found myself getting real about a few things. Seeing them in print, written by my own hand, stirred that pot.
And then my husband came home.
And in a quiet house, we had a rare and wonderful thing.
I shared a bit of what I was thinking and feeling, in bits and uncollated pieces. He listened. He made a few comments.
And I realized some of the truth of what I've actually been writing about lately, things I've noticed in others. I need that face-to-face time to get my own junk out of my head. I need to feel that love of my brother/husband/neighbor for me.
And it was so, so good.
We're both playing music tomorrow at the Riverside Campus, so after talking, we sat down and rehearsed together.
There was a moment there, running through an instrumental version of "Nothing But the Blood", a coalescence of beauty and shared spirit and soul connection and melody and harmony and rhythm...and all was right with my world.
You know what I mean? That connection between a piece of art or music or a moment in a film or a book, and you just feel.
I get that when I make music. Sometimes, it seems to be more a rarity than a normal occurrence; you'd think that wouldn't be true, considering what I do day in and day out. Lately, it's rare. But it happened tonight, and - best of all - it happened with someone I love.
The quiet continues. I'm drinking tea to soothe my throat, and the one I love is on the phone with a friend. His laughter fills the room.
Life is good.