I re-read a book recently, and the author wrote about how she was supposed to speak at an event, and when she asked which topic they would like to here her expound upon, they said, well, just tell us what is saving your life right now.
I could write big long theological treatise about the saving powers of my trees out back and the sound of the creek and the Psalms and ordinary radicals and the Gospel in real life with the real Church. Maybe a paragraph about accepting the gift of Sabbath, avoiding anything that starts with the internal monologue of “should” or “ought to” or “must.” A bit about learning to write a book, contracts, publishers, and a new tattoo I’m planning on.
I’d tell you about church shifts and theological conversations, about hope and mercy and a shrinking world, a flattening hierarchy, a wild gorgeous family of God. a sisterhood, perhaps something about boldness and fearlessness and goodness, shaken, not stirred.
I could tell you about recipe cards turned translucent from buttery fingers, and my homemade pizza, and then I’d tell you about constant prayer, about Twitter, open windows, clean sheets. I’d tell you about how I read way too late into the night, always novels, and pay for it in the morning but it’s totally worth it.
Perhaps a few pages about the tinies, and their wonder, their antics, their stories, their tragedies, about bead necklaces and sloppy kisses, hugged knees, dirty floors, sand in the bottom of the bathtub. I’d tell you about having friends in my house, and plates of food, about drained tea cups and wine glasses tucked under kitchen chairs, and raucous laughter that wakes up the baby. I could write about friends and enemies, about thinkers, philosophers and poets, I could write about baby board books and Bibles and a french press. I’d tell you about this song, and how I sing it loud, and I cry every damn time. Then maybe I would spend a few paragraphs on the art of kissing.
But today, this is the one that is saving me, all over again, giving me a soul-picture of Abba and this daily life. So yes, this moment, the one in the picture there, is saving me, when she smells like sunscreen and pool water, her eyes so heavy with taking in the sunshine, and she’s warm with the exhaustion of a good day, soft baby curls to poke my finger through, wearing her golden hair like a ring.
And she lays across me, we’re together again, my pulse slows down, and her lashes fan out on her cheeks, and she nurses and we sit in the silence of the end of the day. I’m giving something to someone, every day, every day, every day.
Let me be singing when the evening comes.
So, now I’m curious: what is saving your life right now?