For real

I woke this Sunday morning before 6 a.m. By 7 a.m., the house was full of the smell of coffee and cinnamon rolls.

The rain began about 8 a.m., softly at first. By 9 a.m., our rain gauge reads .44″, and the only thing I can smell is wet dog.

Blogging is like that for me.

The ideal of it is spiritual — calm and pretty — a cool pool connecting my personal hopes with long-held beliefs and inviting me to wade into waters I don’t understand.

The everyday reality is more rippled. Writing is fun. It is exciting to open your writing to others. When I finish a post, I feel great and keep re-reading it for another hour or so because I like what I wrote.

More often than I want to admit, however, it can also be bit of a nag.

The voice in my head that asks “What are you going to write today,” echoes the old days when my kids would ask “what’s for dinner?” the moment they got off the bus and before I’d given it a thought.

Today, I have a mountain of writing to do for the University, and I hope I can do it well. I am full of doubt. But before I clear my desk to do the work at hand, it is important to dip my toes into that cool water for real.

I took off Glenn’s soaking rain coat that I wore outside, dried Dakota off with a beach towel, and pulled up a stool to consider my way.

Today is Sunday. We are well, and the water’s fine. I love Sundays. I love my family and my work, and I am deeply grateful for this day.

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