Tonight I scrolled through my pictures, looking for some to feature in this weekend’s Field Notes workbook. I looked for pictures telling stories, pictures I took to remember, pictures I took to say thank you.
I found dozens. A hundred. Two. So many beautiful and true.
At this moment I’m sitting in bed writing, the blue computer light washing my little girl’s sleeping face. She tripped in the hall sleepwalking to the bathroom. Now she’s beside me, and she’s beautiful.
And sometimes awkward. And not always obedient. And occasionally a mess.
But so beautiful. Deep down beautiful.
She told God tonight in her prayer that she had a secret to tell Him, a secret about math, and that she’d tell Him later when I wasn’t listening. She called Him her Holy Master. She said, “We’re not like you” five or six times, lifting Him up as wonderfully different.
This is the daughter I’ve been given?
Just a minute ago I sent a message to a friend who’s doing me a gigantic favor. I’m still thinking about her and the favor and all the grace piling up on the doorstep of my life.
I told my mom about the favor. Mom said, “You have a generous friend.” I said, “She wasn’t even the only one who volunteered.” Mom said, “You have generous friends.”
In a few seconds (maybe before I finish this thought) I’ll make coffee. Texas pecan flavored coffee. My favorite. And I’ll write for my workshop on Saturday, a workshop full of women who love God with whole hearts, women alongside whom I’ll spend an entire day learning and growing, sharing and discovering.
I began these thoughts tired and distracted and ill, frustrated at to-do’s I didn’t want to do.
But then the pictures. And my daughter crawling into bed…
As I write, I’m reminded God is here. In the coffee. In my little girl. In my family of friends. In my work. In pixel-painted memories on my hard drive.
Writing has a way of reminding. Not just that. Writing has a way of minding…
This weekend I’ll host Field Notes: A Workshop in Writing to See. I’ll argue for the power of writing to shape a life. I’ll tell you writing opens your eyes to what’s close, forcing you into awareness and focus, enabling gratitude and joy. I’ll tell you writing can lead you closer to God. Or maybe that writing will awaken you to the God who’s close.
We’ll write. We’ll see. It’ll be beautiful.
Won’t you come? :)