I’m joining in with a group of writers for Five Minute Friday where we’re given a prompt (this week it’s WILLING) and write for five minutes about it.
I’m sitting in bed reading. The door leading from our bedroom to the deck is open. Cool fresh morning air fills the room and birdsong is the first music of day. Gerry delivers a cup of soy milky frothy coffee to me, kisses the top of my head, and gets ready to head out to men’s meeting.
At the front of the house he opens the door creating a cross draft and, ever so slowly, the bedroom door swings on its hinges and closes. I’m not smart enough to understand or explain the principles that caused it but they’re irrelevant at the moment because the gentle swinging of the door makes me mindful of other things I struggle to understand and explain.
I have a propensity to rely on what I can see, smell, hear, taste, and touch, but that which is as invisible as the wind is no less real in my spirit. We talk about having a willingness to suspend disbelief to appreciate works of literature or drama. It’s from such a willingness that faith springs.
The divine in this room, invisible but no less real in my spirit, whispers. Deep calls to deep. I believe. Help my unbelief. I think we’re all meant to be poets.