A few times I’ve joined Five Minute Friday, a writing exercise over at the gypsymama. You take the prompt, you write for five, you stop. (Loosely five, okay? Because I notice that everyone finishes their final sentence.) Today we’re writing about “every day”.
I had a mentor once. A wise woman standing in a long and happy marriage, a mother who raised three boys, who had watched and waited through the heartaches of one child and welcomed him back from the pigsty to his father’s house. It has been nearly ten years but I can see her in my mind, head nodding, eyes big and saying, “The thing about life is that it’s so daily, right?” I realize now that she was talking about my life.
I awake in the fresh morning that dawns every day. Monday, Friday, Sunday, Today look the same. There is a baby, there is a tiny little toddler girl, there is a husband, there is a house. On waking the curtains must be drawn, the baby must be fed, the coffee must be made, the clothes put away, the breakfast made, eaten, and cleared. Everyone must be dressed and brushed, hugged and shushed. And if I am not careful, it is the List that will rise up to meet me when I open my eyes. If I am not careful I will just blindly begin doing things and the day will unfold itself in beauty unnoticed and the wisdom and the strength that I need will stay quietly out of sight between the closed covers of my Bible. And I will stumble on through the hours in the unconsidered assumption that this is all there is. In the sort of unending competition between myself and what I think I should accomplish, between myself and the practical tasks of my insular world that will all need to be done again in tomorrow’s day . . . or the one after that.
The birds sing a lot in England. They’re in full voice by five. What will they do today? Gather things, I suppose. Mrs. Bird will be about the practical tasks of her insular world. She’ll collect sticks and worms and other things insignificant in themselves and that will all need to be gathered up again tomorrow. But she’s singing first–she just naturally does it.
And the thing about the manna–it was only good for one day. (But in the morning, there was more.)