Faith, memory; spark and gumption.

This is the time of day when the descending sun peeks through the trees at such an angle that I can’t rightly sit at this desk without being blinded or having to contort myself so that maybe some branch or the pane of the window may block the golden, penetrating ray which is burning up my face even as I type this.

Lucky for me, this is the room that has two desks in it.

I moved.

I’m appeased.

The veg is in the oven (roasted beets with olive oil and an artichoke garlic sauce that I’m going to pour over the beets when they’re done, like a creamy white robe), and I’m still wearing my apron, thinking about the day and all of its triumphs and challenges. And even though it’s only just after 6:30 in the evening, and for all of the gumption I had when I walked through the door an hour ago, chopping up beets and planning the rest of my evening to get some more work done before bed, I find I am losing my nerve.

What was I going to do again?

Write?

Write what exactly?

Write something.

Is it necessary for me to be like one of those writers who get mythologized by other writers, almost like “midnight heroes,” burning the midnight oil after the day job to realize their dreams? 

I mean…I can do that for a season, but not forever.

I know changes are coming, and are even just around the corner, in fact. But as I’ve written before, all we have is the here and now, and therefore it’s easy to feel like nothing is going right and the world is coming to an end.

But I can remember times when the world’s end seemed like a welcome turn of events. Dark times, those were. Times without faith. Without memory. Without spark or gumption or direction.

These are not those times, thank God.

This is the time of faith and memory. Of spark, gumption, and action.

And because I think the beets are done roasting, I am going to leave my desk now and eat my dinner without placing too many expectations on myself. And after I eat, I’ll be very still, so that I may hear my Soul telling me who I am and what to do next.

’Til Monday, dear reader.