Financial stability, an empty schedule, and no responsibilities… so I’ve heard.
But maybe it’s lotion on cracked winter hands—stinging, healing. The endlessness of open roads. Music and art. Maybe it’s the release that comes with cussing, the solitude of car-crying, or the last moment of worship in a sanctuary about to be destroyed.
I slept in and woke up to a warm house because Larry the furnace-fixer paid us a visit late last night. I spent some time reading, took a hot shower, and had spaghettios and salt & vinegar chips for lunch. I had brownies for desert that my mom made me for Valentine’s Day. My roommate helped me push my car out of the snow, and then I went to a coffee shop, ordered a soy chai latte, and spent four hours writing and downloading music. I stopped at home for dinner and a chat with my mom before heading to the church where I played Catchphrase with middle-schoolers, talked my little cousin out of “starting something” with a girl who was spreading rumors about her, and practiced music for our 30-Hour Famine concert. Then I went home and had quality roommate time girl-talking, cuddling, and watching American Idol and The Bachelor on DVR. Now I’m curled up in my bed, writing this blog.
In Haiti, people died today. People mourned, people searched for their families, and people begged for food. People laid in hospital beds. People roamed the streets. People sifted through rubble and uncovered body after body after body. People drank dirty water and ate trash and cried and bled. People prayed, and maybe their prayers were answered, and maybe they weren’t.