Late-Night Reading

Must. Stop. Reading.

Just kidding, I’ll never stop reading, but I do have to stop allowing it to rob me of sleep. Or do I? Waking this morning, hours past the time I like to begin the day. Not a huge problem, but it messes with my routine. And I do like routine. Ah well—onward we go.

I haven’t touched it for years:Two Hearts: An Adoptee’s Journey Through Grief To Gratitude, the book I wrote chronicling my search for the elusive thing called family. I’m meeting with a group of women to talk about it, and other things, next week, and want to refamiliarize myself with it. It was all such a long time ago, so much has happened since.

It’s not good late-night reading—for me, anyway—and I feel like a wrung out dishrag by the time I finish. I close my Kindle and turn to prayer, where I stay until sleep comes. It was a painful journey, fraught with poor choices and broken dreams, but it brought me here—and here is pretty sweet.

If only dances in my mind, but I don’t allow it to linger. There’s a lot of them: different circumstances, choices, and people that could have shaped a different story. It does no good to dwell on them.

Instead, I pray in gratitude: thank you for bringing me through. Thank you for shining love on me, a love so deep and wide, that it covers everything else and becomes the only thing. Thank you for grace.

Like C.S. Lewis, my mind runs “up the sunbeam to the sun” and I continue in adoration.  It is well. The muck falls away, and only love remains as I fall into deep and healing sleep.

Thanks so much for stopping by. I'm here most mornings with a photo and a few words about ordinary extraordinary things and, sometimes, thin places where faith intersects.

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