Today...

Today…

I am wearing a vintage (retro?) cream colored blouse from South America, boldly embroidered with flowers in bright pinks, oranges and reds, over a cute lacey black tank top with jeans and black flip-flops. (Have I mentioned that the only good thing about Stampede is an entire week of casual days?) I’m also pondering the difference between vintage and retro, and wondering how to determine which category my blouse falls into. It was purchased in the seventies, likely in Colombia but possibly in Peru, by my dad, but was shrunk in the wash sometime about a decade ago, and found it’s way into my closet, where it is pulled out from time to time for those days when I either need to dress “western” or just want something a little bit bohemian and different.

I am wearing a toe-ring on my left pinky finger. It has three tiny silver butterflies on it, and it makes me smile and reminds me of some important things.

I phoned the telephone company and argued them into giving me a credit for the several days of phone and internet service that they didn’t provide to me last week. My next phone and internet bill will be $14 cheaper than usual.

I emailed someone about a lawnmower.

I invited my brothers to join some friend and family for dinner at my new house next week.

I left a phone message for my mom, checking if she’d confirmed that same dinner invitation with my dad, and asking her to email me the recipe I need so that we actually have something to eat that night.

I took the bus from my new house for the very first time.

I am wearing a "diamond" in my nose piercing.

I am listening to a playlist I made for a dear friend last fall, and enjoying the music I picked for her then.

I am sipping water from a plastic bottle, because the stainless steel one I wanted to buy was sold out at the natural food store when I stopped by there the other day.

I spent 20 minutes on hold with the local public transit authority, to have a two minute conversation about where I can catch the bus to get home tonight.

I am going to move some boxes belonging to my roommate (currently vacationing for a month in Europe) from our basement into her closet, to await her return.

I am going to collapse some of the boxes from moving that we’re keeping, and store them in our basement.

I am going to collapse the moving boxes we’re not keeping, and load them into the trunk of the car for a trip to the recycling depot in the next few days.

I am going to listen to another segment of a dramatized version of “The Voyage of the Dawn Treader” while I stick labels and stuff envelopes for most of the afternoon. I’m also going to try to stay awake while doing this task. I nearly fell asleep at my desk doing the same thing yesterday afternoon.

I’m going to eat either leftover chicken and couscous, or ichiban soup for supper.

I’m going to clean all the empty boxes out of our kitchen.

I’m going to phone our landlord to check on if there’s a smoke detector in our house somewhere that I’m not seeing, since our tenants insurance requires us to have a smoke alarm.

I’m going to bring my clean laundry upstairs from the basement where we hung it to dry on Monday night, and I’m going to fold the laundry that’s sitting in a chair in my bedroom.

I’m hoping to also bring all of my shoes and boots up from the basement, and settle them into either our hall closet or my bedroom closet.

I’m going to measure my bedroom window to see about getting blinds installed on the weekend.

I’m going to make a list of a few little things about our house that I need to ask my dad about.

I’m going to enjoy being productive, but I’m also going to scrap whatever I need to from this list in order to rest, enjoy the people I love, and make those things the priority in my life.

The Wounded Healer - Henri Nouwen

Another thought from Henri Nouwen...

The Wounded Healer

Nobody escapes being wounded. We all are wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not "How can we hide our wounds?" so we don't have to be embarrassed, but "How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?" When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers.

Jesus is God's wounded healer: through his wounds we are healed. Jesus' suffering and death brought joy and life. His humiliation brought glory; his rejection brought a community of love. As followers of Jesus we can also allow our wounds to bring healing to others.