Hey, You! (Yes, You… The Word is Out)
A light powder of snow dusts the deck, reflecting white in the darkness, and cars from the six pm rush-hour whirr by on the road outside. Vivaldi violins and strings crescendo suddenly from the internet radio here, and muffled bath noises pinpoint my five year old’s position.
Hey you, friend? Yes, YOU.
(Smiling over here in a snowy dark Minnesota twilight.)
Can we pull back the shutters and the curtains of our lives for a few minutes here tonight? I encounter so many women who are feeling alone, lonely, and on the fringe. Or we are women who wrestle with hard things and don’t know where to show them.
Caught up in the rush of children’s lives, or caring for the needs of older relatives and parents, there seems to be little time for deep talks and growing friendships some days. Surrounded by people whose lives are full, or whose lives seem polished on the outside, how do you break conversation flows with these empty heart holes?
So, today…. tonight, let’s let it start here. None of us have perfect houses, perfect marriages, perfect kids, perfect sinless lives.We are all human, approachable, and messy; and yet the God of the Universe knows our names and loves us lavishly.
Vivaldi plays in flawless formation in front of me, but chaos scatters the floor behind me. Plastic soldiers, rubber bands, Star Wars cards and figures, merge with torn cardboard pieces of a deep fryer box, remnants of a five year old’s imagination. Several supper plates with leftover rice and sweet and sour chicken still lay sticky on my table, and a crumpled washcloth balls up next to the sink.
You and I, we probably both have a couple piles of papers that need to be sorted, and our laundry rooms — well, let’s not even go there.
But in the rooms with the piles, the sticky, and the scattered, beauty still resides. It’s in the vase of cattails on the table, arching majestically, calling out slices of summer; and in the sweet faced preschooler whispering pretend conversations with stuffed animals from his room.
I open my front door, and pull you in. Up my stairs, into the kitchen with supper’s remnants still scattered, and into the dining room. Look past the rice pot to the gleaming world map below it, will you? and let’s slide the plates to the side as we plunge into conversations about where you have been and where you dream to go.
“Decaf coffee or tea? I have both. Tea?” I grab my own mug, still warm from my orange zinger and sip, while we wait for yours to heat.
Slipping onto my L-shaped cream couch, beneath the chocolate wall and the stretch of windows, we can push the remote controls to the floor, and you can curl up under the green blanket.
“The hard part of today?” I’ll embarrassingly, shyly, and in honoring-vagueness, confess of an angry tirade, crabby phone conversations, and a mad heart that crossed metaphorical arms.
“The good parts of today?” I’ll share of God softening my heart, and teaching me over the hours to look for good, to choose joy, gentleness, softness, and humility. I’ll tell you of hopeful homecomings, apologetic hugs, and happy make ups. I’ll laugh with you over jokes with my ninth grade daughter as we worked on Algebra I issues, and I’ll show you the cotton-ball snowmen crafts I made this afternoon with Daniel.
How about you?
I’d love to get to know you more, friend. When you get a moment this week, will you grab a hot drink, click here, and tell me more about yourself?
What are you drinking? What does the room you are sitting in look like? What is the hard? What is the good in your life right now?
Smiling at you from a snow-dusted Minnesota suburb in deepening twilight. Vivaldi plays, toys remain strewn, and I’m going to make another cup of tea. Join me?
(linking up with the Imperfect Prose community too.)