Again.
and again and again and again
Today marks a whole year of reading Psalm 91 every single day. This is not some self-righteous proclamation about consistency. In truth, I have tried to leave the psalm behind. How could I really be stuck reading one psalm for this long? And yet, every day it has been the same. Again. Some days I have read it over and over and over. Again. again. again.
I have listened to it on repeat for thirty minutes of swimming. The words drifting out over the water and into my neighborhood where surely my neighbors concern grew as it would repeat and repeat. Again. again. again.
To the best of my recollection I have never repetitively read something this long. In the words I have found comfort, solace, hope, clarity, solidarity, compassion, and more. As varied as my experience has been, there has been one constant. Reading Psalm 91 has always, every single time, brought an exhale from deep within my bones. And I wonder if that is why my heart continues to cry out. Again.
I feel the same sort of exhale every time I start hammering away on my computer keys. “Ah, yes,” my bones seem to say, “there you are.” And so I attempt, one more time, to just write the words I need to write. I have tried and failed countless times and yet I cannot stifle the voice that says again. Again. Which brings me back to my computer and these virtual pages that I truly love, and the readers I truly cherish and ultimately, to me.
For weeks now a line from A Chorus Line has been an almost constant companion. “God, I’m a dancer. A dancer dances.” If you are not a die hard musical theater lover like myself I will offer but a brief moment of context. This line is sung during an epic solo by our leading lady, Cassie, as she realizes she no longer cares if she has the lead or not-she just needs to dance because it is who she is. And so as I have mulled about in my mind what to write or what to share, this is the sentiment I share. I’m a writer. And a writer, writes. Doesn’t matter if the writer hasn’t written consistently in over a year. Doesn’t matter if the writer has imposter syndrome (don’t we all) or fears lack of focus/direction, or, or, or. A writer writes. And so here I am again.
And even in the 15 minutes that I written thus far I can attest. Yes, there I am. And it is so good to be connecting with others out across the void. There you are.
It is really good to be me, again.
We have had a blessedly wintery winter. There has been a continuous presence of snow which has made the days full of sledding and skiing and snowboarding and snowy walks. Last winter we had the opposite and as such, we never went sledding, not even once. This felt like a staggering loss to myself and the kids. Sledding is, for me, a high impact, low investment outdoor activity. We pile everything into the car and drive one mile to neighborhood school where there is just the right size hill for a few quick runs with the thrill of hoping you miss the basketball hoops at the bottom to keep this mom (and the teenagers) just a bit on edge.
It took a few weeks of the presence of snow for me to remember that sledding was, once again, available to us. After a few days of attempts with crazy schedules to fit it in, we finally snuck away at 4:45p one evening in mid-January for the first run in almost two years. It was bitter, bitter cold (-6) yet the boys were determined and there was no good reason for me to halt the production. I pulled around back of the school and the boys grabbed what they needed and headed up the hill. I opted to stay in the warmth of the car and just let them have at it for a bit.
It was just the two boys, 16yrs old and 11yrs who are somehow, miraculously, the best of friends, a bright moon reflecting off the snow and the entirety of a school playground, and all the fields. The sounds of laughing and giggling echoed across it all as the boys raced down the hill. It was pure joy. Echoing off the brick of the school walls behind me, reverberating off the steel poles of the basketball hoop, rustling through the trees. Even the snow sang with them as these boys had the best time. And when they got to the bottom, they looked at each other and said, “Again.”
Life has been so full of, well, life. There is not one person I meet who is easily floating along right now. There is death and illness, tribulation, desperation at a near constant pace. Yet, amidst all that, there are moments of total joy. And when we find them, may we too say, “Again.” Again. again. again.
Huge thanks to and for the kick in the pants to get back in the saddle here on Substack. If you are a writer or even considering your own writing on Substack in particular I highly recommend you follow them as they are creating new workshops and offerings for writers. I had the joy of attending their first workshop and it was excellent. Drew knocked me out with an exercise he had us all do-it was so powerful and brought me, immediately, to tears. I just sat there on a zoom with 50 people crying. Totally recommend.
My newest book, Peace in the Dark is available wherever books are sold. Might I suggest supporting an independent bookstore such as nooks And of course at Amazon (reviews welcome!)
You can pickup my other books Life Surrendered or Break Bread Together:
It is so lovely to read your words…again. 🤍
Love this 🫶🏻