Saturday, April 7, 2018

All will be well and all will be well and every kind of thing shall be well.

Julian of Norwich

Nightmares. I wake from a night where more than one of them assaulted my rest. From the nest we made in the living room, where our mattress is laid out temporarily, I hear the hum of the coffee maker and recall my granddaughter commenting on its unique sound on the first morning she was with us recently.

”It tells me that I’m here,” she told me.

That same sound comforts me this morning. In a house where everything is temporarily topsy-turvy the predictable sound of beans being ground and coffee being brewed settles me. That, along with the sweet melody of the wind chimes on the deck—a sound we don’t hear from our bedroom but that has been a gift through the ravages of the night—restore a measure of rightness.

Gerry hands me a mug of the soy milky frothy elixir and I look out the living room window from the sanctuary of my bed as I enjoy the first sips and soak in a similar-but-different view than the one I’m used to in our bedroom.

A measure of settledness falls; the tears from last night finished, if not forgotten.

It’s a new day. And it is well.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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