I roll onto my back and stretch, feeling the joy down to my toes. The day stretches before me too, like a road of smooth, satiny candy at a taffy pull. I know that with each step I take, I shall not walk this way again.
As I lie in cozy comfort between flannel sheets and a blanket, thoughts begin coming to me about that devotional book I am to write. I brave the chilly room to throw back the covers, turn on my lamp and pick up the notebook and pen I keep at my bedside. I write down a few ideas, turn off the light, and go back to bed. More fertile thoughts spring to the surface of my mind; the light comes on again, and I write some more words. This happens a third time, and I decide to stay up. I rejoice at what the Lord has put into my heart.
I make the bed, do my exercises, shower and get dressed. I take a load of laundry along with me and put it in the washing machine before I go to the kitchen and eat breakfast. After breakfast, I mix a batch of bread dough and set it to rise. I put the wet clean clothes into the dryer and set about cleaning the sink, stove, microwave, breadbox and countertops. I shake out bathroom rugs, answer more e-mails, then hang up the now-dry, clean clothes in the closet. I eat lunch.
My bread has risen, so I punch it down, shape it into loaves, place them into glass loaf pans, and prick the tops with a fork. I set them aside to rise for baking. I reply to a comment addressed to me from a woman in my poet's group on LinkedIn who believes all paths lead to God, no matter by what name we call Him. She has written in response to correspondence related to a poem I submitted titled "Reunion", which tells the story of creation, the fall of man, and his redemption. I spend a lot of time crafting my reply.
The microwave timer beeps, signifying it's time to heat the oven. Soon the satisfying smell of baking bread fills my senses and the house. I am feeling very gratified by the smoothness of the road I'm walking, that road that stretches on like a pull of taffy.
I sit back down to my computer at 1:15 and my eyes fall on an e-mail from my friend Jane who lives an hour away in Stephens City. "I must have written the date down wrong," she writes. "I thought we were to meet at my place at 11:30 to have lunch today".
Oh no! I can't believe I have forgotten such an important date as lunch with my friend and prayer partner, Jane! I reach for the phone to apologize, to ask her forgiveness. The answering machine is the only contact with her. I send an e-mail to connect with her, knowing she probably has gone out somewhere. I realize I had forgotten to transfer the anticpated appointment from my calendar to a sticky note on the fridge.
I am surprised by the calm I feel -- I don't wallow in self-incrimination or guilt. And I realize how much I have changed from a year ago -- maybe even less than a year ago. It feels good, and my road once again is smooth beneath my feet. It was just a bump of forgetfulness in the road.
Jane e-mails me back and says she's not upset, for which I am thankful. We make plans to meet next Monday. Jane is a real friend; we have confidence in each other, believe the best of each other -- bumps and all. Thank you, Jane.
Copyright © 2011 Elaine Beachy
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