Natalie and Carla are moving out and I think all the change is hard on everyone.  I know it’s hard on me, who often prefers that things stay the same, always, ever.  I have to be shaken up a little to remember the rush of excitement and fresh air, newness, that comes with a large change, like losing my roommates to other parts of the world, having to re-make my house, having to find money and new roommates and always forever more courage for life.  It’s times like this that I remember that courage happens, it doesn’t just exist. Alone.  By itself, in you, or in me.  Being forced to rearrange the furniture so I won’t feel so much the huge hole and being forced to post my house on Craig’s List and interview all these girls who come to look at the room means that I am doing courageously (by my standards), means that I am courageous.  I’ve been hoping that all the coils forced into each other from the impact of all the life changes of the past year or so will rebound, and finding myself reluctantly opening small windows is a huge deal.  If you can imagine me, standing at the window on the fortieth floor, drawing back and then throwing a paper plane out there, watching where it flies, whether it falls.  But that it’s leaving my room, small plane, just one.

I took the recycling today and found another Mt. Olive pickle jar,  and a set of lovely old encyclopaedias.  I had to lean almost all the way into this huge green recycling tube/box/metal house, and ended up getting inside because I thought I saw another volume of the encyclopaedias way back there…  Nope. It’s amazing, the person I am, amazing that I live so smally and am contracting unless I’m expanding, unless I’m being lived-in by God.  If I didn’t have contrary reasons, I would be one of these hermits, wall my garden, lock my doors, go dumpster-diving at night.  Kids would hit their baseballs into my yard and go buy a new ball.  This is the person I would be / am going to be, unless I push open these doors and ask God in, since I’ve known from far back that He brings a kind of joy with Him that invests even haemorrhage with beauty, even chronic aching with a secret hope.  All this about a “secret singing,” this is stuff I know.  So, buck up, buck the hell up, find joy, soul.

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