grand things, Good things

Creamy, sweet, perfectly evening, decaf London Fog.
Cozy blanket.
Tucked-in boys (chattering in the dark).
And, hopefully, another 40 minutes or so of coherent thought.


Today has been quite lovely. I was blessed with almost two full hours to myself. I side-stepped the dishes, climbed through the laundry, and treated myself to a morning soak and an almost-nap. The day moved on quite well from there.

Within this more-than-decent day, I made a significant step in my professional life (yes, I just might yet return to having a type of ‘professional life’). To be honest, the step is small and low-key and really not much in the greater scope of ‘professional’, but it was significant to me and brought that sense of satisfaction and that stir of excitement that I hadn’t felt in quite some time. I dropped a line to J’, did a gig with Jem, let Knightley clap for me, then tried to deal with the dishes.

Minutes later, J’ responded online, ending with, “Very proud of you!”

Very proud. Of me!

Well! Well then! Okay!

In those brief and seemingly simple four words, I was boosted significantly higher than the actual accomplishment. My partner was proud of me. Pleased with me. Involved. In hand. Part of the story.

It meant the world to me.

In the hours following, I have realized something. I believe that, if my God, my husband, and my children (in that order) were truly able to embrace and see and believe in me with Good Pleasure and Right Pride, well, I believe my world would be complete. I would be entirely content. What else would I need? If my God were able to look upon my heart and actions and be pleased? And if the partner of my living days, and the children of my heart, if they were proud of my life, found pleasure in my offerings?

As we age, as we ‘accomplish’, as we change and lose and wander, we begin to grasp what matters. Today I accomplished something personally, but I received something much greater.

Wishing each of you an evening of support, partnership, and a warm and creamy tea….

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