I've figured out one thing about myself.
On weekend mornings, I'll be a whole lot less cranky if I get myself up before the rest of the house, make coffee, grab a favorite (or new) book, and sit on the patio for a bit reading and sipping. I think it is a mix of the birds chirping, fresh air on my feet, and underlined words from a past reading...mixed with the sweetened milky coffee, of course...that all combine to help me find my best self.
Before the boys need cereal and the cat litter needs attention.
So that's how I started out my 38th year this morning. It was 8:40 by the time I pulled myself out of bed, and I knew I had precious little time for this ritual. So I grabbed Carry on Warrior (never a mistake to grab, that book), threw the last bits of hazelnut coffee in the pot, and plopped myself down in the patio chair despite a few cobwebs and leaves crunching under my feet.
It had been awhile since I had practiced this ritual and my mood has reflected that fact.
One of the first pages I turned to was the one you see up there.
Dog-eared AND underlined...I knew I needed to stop and re-read.
Holy Holes...very fitting for how I'm feeling on this day of being another year older. I'm honestly feeling quite holey today. Broken and unfilled, as Glennon puts it.
And I've been annoyed with myself because I've always loved my birthday and enjoyed the week and days leading up to it like I was waiting for Christmas. But this year I feel different and I'm trying to be OK with that. This holey-ness feels holy so I'm looking for God in these empty spaces, as I work through random tears and frustrating frustration.
Reading her words reminded me that I'm not being ungrateful for feeling this way, or being unreasonable. I'm just being my natural, holey, human self.
And I have people in my life I can turn to that fill those holes in so many ways.
My friend Amy, who reassured me over lunch one day when I told her I was afraid I might cry if we talked about that thing I was scared to talk about, that she had kleenex. She reminded me it was OK to cry. OK to by holey.
My husband for hugging me tight last night and telling me how lucky he is even though I've been a cranky, head-achy, crying mess this week. Despite my holes, that he is thankful for me.
I could create quite a list of people that fill up my holy holes but I'll leave it at that this morning, since the mosquitos have decided to join me on the patio and I don't want to spend my birthday itchy and covered in cortisone cream.
But this is how I feel so far being 38. 10 hours in.
Thankful, and yet, still very holey/holy.