Ready To Try

I sit in my living room, boxes of Christmas decorations at my feet and the despoiled tree at my elbow. Outside, a freezing drizzle falls in the twilight. Inside, dishes call for washing, laundry for folding, and floors for attention. I have ample stock of reasons not to write: my stomach hurts, my life is a mess, ect. For about a week now, I've known I should write of the glimpses of God's loved graciously sprinkled through these days--days of mediocrity and the most ignominious kind of failure, the failure to try. The glimpses still come, the gentle answers to this season's prayer: "Lord, teach me to give and receive love well." Part of me wants to clean up my life, or at least my living room, before looking for words to express God's gifts. But in waiting, I begin to forget, to rationalize, and to listen attentively to the accusing voices in my head: you've lost your chance, He doesn't really love you like that, those were nice psychological warm fuzzies. His kindness found me in the midst of this mess. Perhaps it is not so unseemly to write it here.