the sky is blue
meditations on ordinary thankfulness
This morning the sky was sherbet pink and a low fog hung over our neighborhood, making it seem as though the houses had been whipped into a spun cotton candy. The fog lifted and the sun warmed the sky and pulled clouds away, revealing the blue.
It is January and the sky is blue.
This week I went to a friend’s house where she taught me how to make sourdough bread and fed me Peruvian chicken for lunch. We sat in her house without the lights on and let the sun stream in from the windows. It was dim enough to be comforting and bright enough to see everything we needed to see.
It is January and the sky is blue.
Sam and I had a mostly good week, with only the occasional hiccup. There was more joy than crying, and our rhythms began to feel worshipful in their ordinariness. We bought groceries, chatted about his time at preschool, baked cookies. There were about 475 conversations concerning The Mandalorian and Sam’s deep love of all things Star Wars and how Chewbacca’s nickname is Chewy. We ate many meals at the table as a family. The iPad was off and all was well.
It is January and the sky is blue.
I fed my sourdough starter for the first time today. Sam scooped out flour and water and we plopped it into a mason jar and throughout the day I watched it. Why I am surprised that it is actually growing is probably due to my generally pessimistic outlook on things, but let me tell you what, it is exciting to see something new grow.
It is January and the sky is blue.
Somewhere in Battleground, WA a sweet lady, aged 96, is beginning to leave this world. She’s stubborn and funny and I am lucky to have been able to know her and for Sam to have the chance to have had a great-grandmother. Even if only through marriage. Even if we don’t get to see her often. It seems as though “even if” is sometimes the privilege itself. Loving life in the margins is still loving life.
It is January and the sky is blue.
We are still jobless and there are no real prospects at this time, but our anxiety around this is weirdly low. That doesn’t mean that David isn’t putting as many irons in the fire as he can. That doesn’t mean that we aren’t looking at the budget and thinking of what needs to be adjusted. That doesn’t mean that I’m not feeling guilty (again) for not being able to work in order to help our family’s bottom line. It just means that there have also been indicators that the things we are doing, even in a season of unknowns, are still pointing in the right direction. As Bishop Ken Ross once told us, you can’t steer a parked car. So we continue to drive on, in the semi-dark, feeling certain that there is a light at the end of the tunnel because
It is January and the sky is blue.
Speaking of joblessness, I decided it was time to get my hands dirty again and start flowering weddings. I know no one in the area, so I’ve been reaching out to other folks in the industry, seeing if they’d be willing to connect over coffee. It feels a little “sales-y” and “market-y” for my taste, but it’s validating to hear back and to put coffee dates on my calendar. People here are so much kinder than when I was flowering in Portland. The pretentiousness just doesn’t seem to exist (at least not in mass) and I am emboldened like never before to make connections and get back to doing something I know I can do. Emily of five years ago faked it till she made it. Emily of today walks a bit more confidently but is still relieved when she’s greeted with warmth over iciness. Who wouldn’t be?
It is January and the sky is blue.
Every day I put my ear to the ground as I listen for the far off drumming of horse hooves. Every day I wonder what lies beneath the soil in my front lawn. My son loves earthworms and I pray that we will get rain in the spring so that their little bodies will wriggle to the surface and we can scoop them up in our hands and welcome them back to planet earth. They’ll do everything they can to get back underground as quickly as possible. “You don’t know what you’re missing!” we’ll say. “No, you don’t know what you’re missing” they’ll say in return. I listen for spring, and the earthworms remind me that they’ll eventually win. Today it is still Epiphanytide, but Lent is around the corner.
It is January and the sky is blue.
Today someone slipped on the ice. Today someone felt relief because the ice is melting. Today a tire was flat and keys were misplaced. Today someone listened to a new podcast and someone else finished an audiobook. Someone is hitting their goals for January and someone else is already discouraged that they’re failing at their new year’s resolutions. There’s an expanding and contracting to the new year that happens at the beginning. We all feel it. It’s a bit like breathing underwater, but only a few of us are mermaids and the rest come kicking to the surface, gasping for air. We take the good with the bad, whether we want to or not.
It is January and the sky is blue.
I am thinking about planting sweet peas on a trellis. They’re a delicate little flower that’s edible but not satiating. Perhaps they are even considered frivolous–could it be true that we were created by a God who enjoys frivolity? Wouldn’t that be a miracle if it were true?
But it is, because it is January, and the sky is blue.
P.S. On a blue sky day in the dead of winter, you might be inspired to try a new recipe. Since it was pizza day, this is the one I tried. It was a solid choice.