In Wait

This Sunday was every single thing that I needed, from church by impromptu candlelight to lunchtime chimichangas, to a three hour nap (oh yes I did), to a walk to the park.

I closed down the day with an already-dear friend, she under the ugly blue blanket, me under the thrift-store granny squares. We sipped tea and talked life and books and how waiting is so much harder than going, sometimes. Because for one thing, waiting just hurts our human-ness. It puts a limp in our move-maker. It feels slow and weak. Misunderstood and sometimes silly.

And that's not even the hardest part. The hardest part is knowing what we know - that there's a reason for the streched-out stretch out. What waits on the other side? Will we possibly be ready?

I thought my post tonight would be a doozy; long and involved, the kind that bangs around for months before I'm ready to give it shape on the page, the kind that makes me nervous.

But it's late and I'm tired.

Going big got bumped for real life, the quiet kind, the one happening right this moment.

Tonight, the most important Going meant staying mostly still and giggling like hyenas.