When I stared into the sink full of suds for the third time in two hours, I felt it, that restless pacing of the heart gnawing holes of frustration straight through.
Washing dishes has chapped my hands and the twenty-five-year-old fingers look wrinkled and old. I wish my floors would stay sparkling for a week, we’re just two people and I can’t figure out why the washer ends up running almost everyday, and if someone would walk up to me and ask me how I’m “doing” I would probably just cry and say something crazy like, “I’m so sick of making supper.”
I stare at the soap suds and I shake my head no, because I don’t get it. There are biscuits in the oven and I’ll heat up the fresh pot of potato soap when he calls and says he’s on his way home, and I feel empty.
When I was a little girl I would go and find the sun spots on the porch floor in the afternoon and I’d sit right there with my book and soak up the yellow rays of Vitamin D. I lived with child wonder and expectation.
The sun is streaming through my bedroom windows making patterns on the brown carpet, and I want to curl up in one with the innocence of a child, read a book, and not think about tomorrow, how I’ll wake up and start all over again.
What do you do when all you want to do is escape life?
The wind blows and the snow scatters and I feel the frigid cold inside and shiver. What do you do when your heart, the deepest places of you feel locked beneath a layer of ice? How do you live through winter in your soul?
My hands wring out the dishcloth, I wipe the counters again, and I think this phrase, I don’t know how to live. What is life, what is living, what does it mean to wake up and be fully alive and fully aware and fully engaged from the piles of laundry to the unexpected knock at the door? In the ordinary and regular, in the abnormal and unexpected, what does it mean to live every moment in the fullness of what a moment was meant to be?
Later, when we go outside, I am walking across the yard carrying his trucks and diggers, when I look over my shoulder and morning sunshine blinds me with golden yellow glory. Cold wet snow blankets the world and when I fully turn and I fully look, I fully see it, the way the golden sunlight bounces carefree on the naked, ugly branches of my rose bush, sprinkled fresh with pure white.
Is that so simply it? Is that how you live a life that speaks? To fully turn, to fully look…in order to fully see?
And it is true, that Light transforms everything. The snow melts off the surface of the earth and the ice cracks open. Open wide to receive, to embrace, to obtain.