It's a quiet room for a moment. I hear the voices of my children down the hall - both laughing and crying periodically. But as I sit on my comfy couch, I squint to see the screen of my laptop. This laptop with which I have a love-hate relationship. The sun shines in through the floor to ceiling windows all along the side of my den. The light is so bright, it's difficult to see the screen clearly...
It's been a spiritual-high weekend. I traveled to New Orleans with some ladies from our church to attend a Beth Moore conference. The tears began when I first sat down to peruse the handbook given to each participant for use on the weekend, which began with a letter from Beth. My tears were tears of relief. Have you ever held your breath for a really long time? Longer than what you felt you could endure? And then when you felt like your lungs would explode, you mouth opens wide with a gasp, sucking in as much oxygen as possible and you can finally breathe again. That's what this weekend felt like for me.
I was also reminded this weekend of the need for close friends in my life. It's something I struggle with; letting people in - letting people close. It's so much easier just to be self-sufficient, but ultimately, I think that self-sufficiency is just a mask. It's a wall. But somehow this weekend, when I wasn't looking, a floor to ceiling window was put in that wall, and since then, I've been blinded by the light that's pouring in now.
The view from these windows (the real ones in my den) is unbelievably gorgeous lately. Greens, yellows, pinks and reds. They're calling me out. Into the light. Into the sun. Into the world.
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