glory days

This week I did something that I haven't done in 17 years, and wow did it feel _____!!

Yeah, like that. Absolutely indescribable is about the only way I could even somewhat describe it. I mean, my feelings surfaced like they had been underwater too long and couldn't breath. So sudden, so explosive, but at the same time so natural, so refreshing. They had been pounding at the door of my heart for so long that when I finally provided a way out, there was no going back. The whole experience stirred up something in the depths of my soul and left me in a total state of wonder with one big question for God: Why?

Why do you give us such innate desires that are woven into the very core of our innermost being, yet seemingly provide only a short window of opportunity for fulfilling them?  If I have served my purpose with these desires, then why doesn't the intensity subside?

Hello?  Am I missing something here? 

All the while, ringing in my ears are the words of David: "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart."   As well as the words of Solomon: "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven."

Well, God definitely has a sense of humor.  I'm sure it's no coincidence that the verses He brought to my mind mention the word "season," as this conversation between me and my Creator came about simply because of my love for a sport.

Are you wondering what in the world I did to ignite this divine interrogation? All I did was buy a hot pink volleyball from Target and use it in a game of one-on-one pepper with my best friend.  

Are you kidding me, you ask?  No, I'm not kidding. That's all it was. A simple game of pass, set, hit.  Except I wasn't 17 anymore.  It wasn't during practice or pre-game warm up. I wasn't wearing a number 8 on my back. And I wasn't even on a volleyball court.  I was in my own backyard, and I was barefoot. The spectators had changed too.  They were no longer parents and peers, but an 8 year old boy, and two 5 year old girls. Three of our four kids were watching our every move and begging for their turn to pepper.

As much as the context had changed however, much had stayed the same. We peppered like we were 17 again. Like we were proud Lady Indians in uniform. 

We had the same movements: She said I set the same, and I noticed she did too. 

We used the same words: When we were going to set it, we said "set!"  When we were going to hit it, we said "down!" When one of us had a good dig, we said "nice up!" 

 

We experienced the same excitement: There was a lot of smiling and giggling when we had a good volley.

   

As we played, one of us dripped with sweat, and the other one just glowed...more of the same. Our youth revived, we reminisced and talked about the glory days. It was incredible. We still had it in us. And I have to say, we weren't all that bad. 

But as fun as it was, I'm still left wondering if my volleyball "season" is really over or if God has just called a really long time-out...

ode to creativity

oh the relentless stream of ideas

begging for their birth...

from me? (cringe)

no. please, not from me.

too many of you are calling for attention, 

so loud it almost hurts.

competing for a spot in my day.

pick me, pick me! they always say.

go away! i sometimes cry

you're stressing me out!

you're clogging up my thoughts,

and i want to think about something else!

wait, no! come back!

i'll give you life, i promise!

it might be days, it might be years,

but be assured your time will come.

be patient blessed ideas, 

creativity needs time to reproduce!

more rejoicing in sockdom!

Once again, the sockdom has reason to rejoice!  Can you believe it? A second lone sock has returned home! 

It was yet another tan ribbed sock, but this time, from my DH's stash (they co-habitate with my pairless stash on the floor of my closet.)  I found this one hanging out amongst a basket full of clean laundry. It was actually a rather unbelievable way to make its return to the sockdom, as if my DH wore one without the other or something. I saw it there mingling with the rest of the pile, trying hard to blend in.  I thought I recognized it as one of the runaways, but dismissed the idea rather quickly, thinking surely a second sock would not piggyback its return so soon on such a similar peer. When I was done folding, there it was again, all alone at the bottom of the basket, looking uncomfortably out of place. It displayed quite a different attitude than the first. It was much more nonchalant, as if trying to mask its comeback. I'm not sure why this second sock displayed such reservation about coming home, but I could barely stand to look at it in all its misery. So without much hope, I went to rummage through the lone sock stash. And to my great surprise, its lonesome mate was right there waiting for me.

I'm starting to wonder if the secret sock society has declared a mandatory homecoming for all the tan ribbed socks. 

(Two down, fifteen to go!)