Wednesday, February 12, 2014
The timer buzzed and the rest of their breakfast went into the garbage. Tired of raising my voice, tired of them not making a choice. Tired of not having time to drink my coffee hot. Drank it in the van while waiting for the bus in my pajamas. Tired of my flannel pajamas. Don't want to face the reality of my skinny jeans stretched over my body. Flirting with a baby as she gets ready to sleep, she smiles and coos. I smile back all while mulling over the impact of a global economy on 3rd world nations. Who decided that they are third? We know who is first, but who is second? Deep thoughts for someone still in her nightgown. Finally the baby is down and my coffee is cold. Preparing a sermon for tonight. Will I be bold enough to say what needs to be said in love? Will I love even if what I say is openly rejected? Only looking to reflect an image that is not mine, hoping for a little piece of the Divine. Will I set a timer for myself? Motivation to get dressed, to impress a room of youth. External motivation, while irritating is essential for me. Would be happy to do nothing but sit and drink coffee that is still hot. Clean clothing in a pile on the floor, waiting, taunting, pointing out my lack of care. If only someone would lay out my day for me, segments of life composed to make a whole. I would scream and rebel. And yet the timer was set this morning, motivation. I don't want to yell. I don't want to be late. I just want them to freaking clean their plate.