Ash Wednesday marks my very favorite time of the year: Lent. Most people think I'm kind of weird for this, but it really truly is my favorite time. A time of contemplation, a time for renewal and preparation. This is it!
Most people know me as bubbly, outgoing, and a chatterbox (understatement of the year). When I meet someone friendly I'm so excited to meet someone that I usually can't shut up until they're sick of me. I love meeting new people, making music with people, and having a good laugh.
So most people are pretty surprised that my favorite time of day in elementary school was when we did silent reading after lunch. I LOVED it. I was surrounded by quiet people, and we were all just... there. I didn't have to worry about stopping while I was ahead in the talking game.
It was the same reason that I did my homework in the library in college. People were there, and I didn't have to worry about conversation and how much I really couldn't manage it. I just liked being there. I wasn't lonely then, and I didn't get so nervous that I'd babble.
So yeah. Quiet.
At mass tonight I was so excited to have met my best friend's baby that when I got there I just couldn't stop talking. Not only did I meet him, but she literally moved back here from all the way across the country. On top of that my younger dog got neutered today and I'd just been told he was doing well. Add all that together and I have the perfect storm -- my cup runneth over. The priest's mother (who is amazing) told me to shush, because I hadn't stopped talking since I got there and I didn't have a clue that I was. I was glad she did. At the peace she put her hand on my face and looked in my eyes and just said "remember." It was profound.
She reminded me to think and listen. Contemplate. All my just saying "remember."
I remember a poem I wrote about being so excited that I babble. I almost wonder if that was what she was reminding me to remember. Or to remember my love of just being around people without having to worry about talking to them too much. Or remember that the few times I've been to cafes just to sit and write I really enjoyed it. Or remember to listen. Or all of it. I'm so grateful just for those few seconds.
And here is the poem.
There is so much
to pour out of my heart
that I don't know
where to begin;
I am afraid that
once I let out a drop
the dam will burst
and I will over-flood
all the vessels
willing to accept
my soul-water.
c. Emily Morisette, 2014
a ponder: I prefer to write poetry as succinctly as possible. I wonder if that's a challenge to myself that I didn't know I'd given.
God is everywhere. In the silence, in the song, in the joy, in the heartbreak, in the chaos, in the neatly organized bookshelf. But I found Him the most today in not just only meeting C's baby, but also in those couple seconds of Shea looking into my eyes.
Amen.
Most people know me as bubbly, outgoing, and a chatterbox (understatement of the year). When I meet someone friendly I'm so excited to meet someone that I usually can't shut up until they're sick of me. I love meeting new people, making music with people, and having a good laugh.
So most people are pretty surprised that my favorite time of day in elementary school was when we did silent reading after lunch. I LOVED it. I was surrounded by quiet people, and we were all just... there. I didn't have to worry about stopping while I was ahead in the talking game.
It was the same reason that I did my homework in the library in college. People were there, and I didn't have to worry about conversation and how much I really couldn't manage it. I just liked being there. I wasn't lonely then, and I didn't get so nervous that I'd babble.
So yeah. Quiet.
At mass tonight I was so excited to have met my best friend's baby that when I got there I just couldn't stop talking. Not only did I meet him, but she literally moved back here from all the way across the country. On top of that my younger dog got neutered today and I'd just been told he was doing well. Add all that together and I have the perfect storm -- my cup runneth over. The priest's mother (who is amazing) told me to shush, because I hadn't stopped talking since I got there and I didn't have a clue that I was. I was glad she did. At the peace she put her hand on my face and looked in my eyes and just said "remember." It was profound.
She reminded me to think and listen. Contemplate. All my just saying "remember."
I remember a poem I wrote about being so excited that I babble. I almost wonder if that was what she was reminding me to remember. Or to remember my love of just being around people without having to worry about talking to them too much. Or remember that the few times I've been to cafes just to sit and write I really enjoyed it. Or remember to listen. Or all of it. I'm so grateful just for those few seconds.
And here is the poem.
There is so much
to pour out of my heart
that I don't know
where to begin;
I am afraid that
once I let out a drop
the dam will burst
and I will over-flood
all the vessels
willing to accept
my soul-water.
c. Emily Morisette, 2014
a ponder: I prefer to write poetry as succinctly as possible. I wonder if that's a challenge to myself that I didn't know I'd given.
God is everywhere. In the silence, in the song, in the joy, in the heartbreak, in the chaos, in the neatly organized bookshelf. But I found Him the most today in not just only meeting C's baby, but also in those couple seconds of Shea looking into my eyes.
Amen.