Who Knew?

Saturday.

The bay is overcast and dull today. No sun, not today, not yet. There's a dog barking somewhere in the distance. A bird in the palm tree right outside my window is chirping and whistling into this moment that holds no sun but is completely delightful. Farmer Boy and I have been running the fan in our tiny airbnb apartment to keep the air moving and now the background noise it offers is sweet, peaceful. A boat just passed by, quietly making it's way through the bay as if it too senses holiness.

Holy. Delicious.

This moment is completely delectable and yet I'm holding back. If I partake, if I take a bite, will it disappear? I don't want that. I want to stay here in this quiet, this divine. I feel my Saviour right here with me. He's leaning out the window, taking in the bay, the fog, the stillness and then he turns toward me with a smile and looks deep into me.

Take it all dear one. Every bit of it.  Rest is good. This is good and it's for you. Take. Drink. Savor. Don't be afraid. Surrender.  I made it for you. I love you so.

I brought Anne Lamott's "Small Victories" along with me. Here's what she wrote to me this morning.

I learned that opening myself to my own love and to life's tough loveliness not only was the most delicious, amazing thing on earth but also was quantum. It would radiate out to a cold, hungry world. Beautiful moments heal as do real cocoa, Pete Seeger, a walk on old fire roads. All I ever wanted since I arrived here on earth were the same things I needed as a baby, to go from cold to warm, lonely to held, the vessel to the giver, empty to full. You can change the world with a hot bath if you sink into it from a place of knowing that you are worth profound care, even when you're dirty and rattled. Who knew?

Who indeed?