Square-Peg Reflections: In The Light

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Goodbye holidays, goodbye tree. Hello about 40 sq. ft. more room (ok, it only feels like 40 sq. ft. more room, the tree could NOT have been that big!).

The tree is outside, the ornaments are (blush, blush) all over hell's half acre. I'll put them away tomorrow. They're in their boxes, but the boxes are floor to ceiling in the office.

For a few hours tomorrow I will climb over them, trip over them and knock into them with my fanny (I just wanted to say "fanny" - it's a funny word). But seriously, I will bang into them with my fanny, because my fanny is always bigger than I remember it being.

After I climb, trip and bang into the boxes a number of times tomorrow I will put them away. All but the boxes for the stars.

I didn't have the heart to take the stars out of the front windows yet. They're my reminder of hope. And light. They're my reminder to stay in the Light. At Quaker Meetings, when I attend (I'm an AWOL attender at the moment) - and presumably when I do not attend - people say: "Let's hold ____ in the Light." or "I'll be holding you in the Light."

I have a friend who knows about holding folks in the Light. We've been doing that a lot lately for each other. We've both needed to be held in the Light. Times have been dark, there have been needs.

Today I told her that I had no blooming idea what to write about for this post. She said: "Write about holding someone in the Light, while you - yourself - are waiting for a miracle."

I could go all over the place with that. I could go gloomy: we've seen some big dreams, hopes and prayers materialize recently in my friend's life while over here glimmers of hope have stayed glimmers - and at times even faded. She knows I'm a whiner - and I have done the "why not me?" thing. I don't want to do that here.

I could talk superficially and pretend that I'm always Ms. Gratitude. But I don't want to, because I'm not - and at least I want to be authentic. So what can I tell you that's positive, but not fake? I'm thinking of the title of Joan Didion's book of essays - "Slouching Towards Bethlehem" - I've always liked that title.

I'm slouching toward the Light. I am. I'm not good at it though. At least not all the time. But I do keep turning toward the Light. I do keep reminders around - like the stars in the window. And people in my life - who both remind me that there is light - and often are the Light for me.

So I'm waiting - lots of us are waiting - you're probably waiting too. There are many needs. But there is also lots of light. Let's remind each other!