A little repast, or repost.

Okay, so this is not food for your stomach, or maybe not even your heart. But it's food for my heart, and I'm sharing it with you.

I have been shook to my foundations in the past coupla days. Each day requires more than a 15 minute explanation, but here's the "Twitter version."

Saturday: red gatorade, car seat, three shirts, two library books. one friend, oxyclean, and lunch. (It will make a fun post someday. I'm not completely ready to make that much fun of myself.) It's better in the oral form not the written word.

Sunday: long meandering chat with my daddy, Sunrise (an item on the menu, not the time of day) at Quiet Storm, visit with Babs, no move the sofa...yet. Ice cream.

Monday: a disaster, humble pie, I survived, I love my therapist, I love my friends, my shirts (see Saturday) are okay, joined a new Bible Study. many many children with questions about books.

Today: haven't spoken outloud to a person yet, but have "g-chatted" with Kiki, facebooked with a new friend (from Bible Study), and had a cry. Hormones anyone? Happy Canada Day!

Sunday at church BJ asked us if we had any thoughts on the Holy Spirit, since we've been taking in sermons on the ghost himself since early June. I said I've been learning that the HS has my back. So this morning, when my eyes kept getting drawn to a book I bought at Goodwill ages ago, I took it off the shelf. There was already a marker at my favorite passage, which I posted about a while back. I'll see if I can pull that post, but here's the passage, first:

Our moments of happiness are those when we see a burning light through the bars of our personal prison, when for some amazing reason we look out through the cracks; or perhaps by suffering with someone in charity, we leap out of the prison itself , guided by the Spirit, which has never lost its New Testament talent for walking through brick walls. The grace of God is in my mind shaped like a key, that comes form time to time and unlocks the heavy doors.

(Donald Swann)

There's a poem that reminds me of this passage, in the post I posted on this before. Hold the phone whilst I browse...

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(Well, that was a walk down mem'ry lane. I had no idea I'd posted SO many post on poetry. This comes from a post in the halcyon days of blackbird's Show and Tell and the summer of Loretta's List Friday.)

When I fantacize your kisses it rattles me,
like downing four mugs of coffee in advance of noon,
making me tremble unnervingly through the whole lunch hour.
But your real kisses,
when they come to me,
calm me like half a Valium chased with beer,
so that my convict heart stops banging its cup on the bars--
because the iron door has suddenly shuddered open,
and the guard's waving me out,
waving me out with a smile
after all these years.

(Joseph Hutchinson) (I'm assuming my link is the same guy--I have no actual proof.)

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So, since that old post is from June, I am reminded that for me, summer is all about love and love lost. Egads, the mental energy I exude...for me, February has nothing on June, because at least in February EVERYONE else is also angsty.

But it's July now. Um. Anyways.

I think I'm going to go visit Loretta, and then get into the real part of this day which involves clean hair and looking like a Children's librarian.

Would you look at the time??