Today I'd like to do a five minute Friday for Lisa-Jo Baker's writing prompt here. Sad that her site had to crumple up and die before I started this, but honestly, sticking the link in a facebook comment thread seems a whole lot easier than linking to her site. Even though I've been a fan for EVAH, this is my first time joining.
And GO.
Some days the world seems so incredibly fragile. Not in a morning-dew-on-dandelion-puff way. More of a creeping-over-broken-glass-through-the-dark-barefoot sort of way.
Some days I am sure that every few hours (heck, every few minutes) something bad will happen. A plane won't fall on my house. That would be too easy. But the oven will die. And the cat will barf on the carpet. And the kids will poke each other with sticks I told them to throw in the garden but somehow they ended up back in the fenced yard I thought was safe enough that I could take 2 minutes to run to the bathroom and pee.
Some days this constant barrage of tiny failures wears at me in a way I can't figure out how to fix. Like the scratchy tag that will puncture the back of your neck 379 times in one morning until you're ready to tear off your shirt in the middle of Walmart and do your shopping half-naked. If it was a larger sort of broken, I could DO SOMETHING. But these minute little broken pieces of a day that should have gone well aren't anywhere in the mom's playbook.
Like my laptop. I'm a writer. Not just a facebook and twitter kind of writer. But a writer who makes money actually writing. So, I need my laptop. I need it to work. Not just sometimes, but all the time. The touchpad was stuck for weeks. Every few words the cursor would jump, sometimes erasing whole paragraphs, or sentences, or I'd find myself typing in the middle of some other scene. I had to stop, fix, begin again, then stop, repeat, begin again, until my train of thought has completely derailed and the muse has fled the room.
BROKEN. But not so broken I could throw it out. It was just a scratchy tag sort of broken, that endless small puncturing of my thoughts and words and pages until I wanted to give up.
And today I fixed it. I typed this post without a single skip or sudden deletion.
I have never felt so grateful. My hands feel generous and free. I never want to stop.
Joy and gratitude amid the brokenness of my life, because one thing that was wrong is now right.
STOP.
If I could control those broken moments throughout the day my to-do list would be much shorter. He uses those broken moments to teach me and soften my heart so I welcome them as willingly as this OCD girl can accept. Thanks for stopping by my FMF! Happy weekend!
ReplyDeleteOh yeah, I know about that itch of so many little things not quite working right, just enough to drive you crazy. How cool that you can turn it to a moment of gratitude when you see one that does go well, even if only briefly.
ReplyDeleteSuch a true post. Those "minute" broken things or failures can be such big annoyances, but at least we can be thankful when something is fixed or a battle won or forgiveness granted. I want to try to not only have patience with the little trials, but be more aware of God's grace in the overcoming, and the blessings.
ReplyDelete{Stopping by from FMF!}
DeleteReturning the visit from FMF. :) Won't it be so refreshing when we get to Heaven and nothing is broken, not even us?!
ReplyDeleteSo glad your laptop is fixed! Hopefully that's the first of a long line of things to be put right (not that I think you have a laundry list of broken things, but I know I do!)
ReplyDeleteWonderful post, and beautiful writing. I enjoyed every second of your take on the word "broken". Thank you!
ReplyDeleteYour laptop has been part of your life for a long time, it can really be hard on you when something is wrong with it. It feels like you just lost a limb. Even if you're in the mood to write, you won't be able to concentrate since you're always thinking of it, distracted. I'm glad that it was fixed. Keep yourself inspired, so you can create more wonderful work.
ReplyDeleteCordia Remsen @ RB’s Computer Service