My Arms Aren’t Long Enough
Yesterday, a HUGE package came to my house, the first formal delivery since I’ve lived here. The Fed Ex man wooed Meander with biscuits and handed me a giant box. I put it on the coffee table and cut it open. Inside, I found gigantic stainless steel mixing bowls – perfect for making bread and for making the streudle for apple crumble. Plus, these gorgeous, bright measuring cups were inside, too. My heart swelled.
Meander chewed this for all of you.
One of you sent me gifts.
I sent an email of thanks to the giver and then stood at the front door to watch the sun slip up the mountain across the valley and send that silent thanks to the Giver. I am overwhelmed by generosity.
Yesterday afternoon, a friend hired me to help her organize her office. The job is generous, but it also wonderful. See, she works in historic building preservation and slavery and education – all things I love – so sorting her files is like visiting a library except that my friend has done all the catalog searches already. A gift of work but also of knowledge.
Wednesday, my father and I met in Scottsville – the town the Waltons visited when they went to the Dew Drop Inn – and he bought me a washer, dryer and microwave – things I thought I would have to wait months to save and get. Then, he came over the mountain and finished my front steps. There is no better father on earth.
On my post yesterday, I asked you to dream with me, and you did. You shared your visions for this place, for a place where you could find respite. Then, you asked other people to share their ideas. I was filled up with your words and your grace.
Then, as if all that was wonderful about yesterday wasn’t enough, someone paid me to do more editing work. Within the span of one hour, I was able to take care of two of my largest bills for the month.
Last night, someone called, talked to me for an hour, laughed at my corny jokes, told me stories. It was the near-perfect end to a near-perfect day.
So today, if you could see me in the pants formerly known as “yoga pants” but now called “writer pants,” you could see me with my arms stretched wide to hug all of you. My arms aren’t long enough to get all the way around, but I’ll work on that . . . I think I’m going to need to stretch them pretty far in the course of this dream.
Thank you. Thank you.
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