Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. -- William Wordsworth
The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. -- Vladimir Nabakov
Normally, I will say that the best gift I am ever given or wish to receive is spending quality time with people. True is true. But I was sitting at church yesterday, and was really happy I hadn't been given one of those fill in the blank sheets. Inside the bulletin were just two blank pages. If quality time with people I care for is the best gift I could receive. I blank sheet of paper comes in close second. All out of order I wrote down things the pastor was saying, writing in the things God was saying to me. Scribbled out writing. Cursive. Print. Drawing. Squiggly arrows. It was a blank space to write down what was being uniquely given to me.
I was asked once the question what would I want with me if I was stranded on an island. My answer: paper and something to write on it with. Words are my lifeline. We are called to share our stories. Each one is unique. And I would like to say equal. None more important or less. There is always someone out there that can relate to our experiences.
When I was in college the first time, I went to talk to a friend that worked at the university. It was the same afternoon my long-time boyfriend and I had broken up. This is just the ending of one short chapter in your life and you have many more to write. It will be a long story. When we are in pain at times we don't see the big picture. We stay stuck in just that moment. But before too long we are handed another blank page. Such a gift.
There is always revising to be done, starting over with that clean page. And once again we begin to write.
Today I was given a clean page. Sitting on what is a mock-up of a real beach I thought of some things I wanted to write. Spending time with people I love and special time with a couple of kiddos I haven't seen in a long time. I love them a lot, but I knew that they might not remember me. Still there was connection. That unspoken thing that is family.
To see her now so grow-up, when I used to give her bottles or pick her up and take care of her over night. Listening quietly to her breathing or even her tears to make sure she was safe or at peace. Can she ever remember that? Tall, able to read her own books now, finding her independence. He was just a little boy. A soccer game.
Back flips. Full of energy. Now imaginative, sweet and looking for guidance. Today he looked to me to keep him safe, to ward off the snakes, to hold his hand when things seemed slippery. And I listened to both of them.
We were given a blank page. A place to start new. Family being a connection sometimes felt more than remembered. They are the beautiful, best parts ... presents of that relationship long gone. Pure. Innocent. And needing love. Today is a day when I was handed a blank page, and the part of the story I wrote, added so much beauty to the book.
Just from listening, loving and holding hands with my niece and nephew.
What will you write on the gift given to you today? That blank page. Will it add beauty to your story? Never stop writing. Always moving forward.
Such connection.
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