…fully alive

As a child – exploring the woods.

Playing music with other musicians.

Tending to my babies – feeding, changing, rocking, singing to them.

Holding sleepy children in my lap, keeping my active toddlers from danger, helping to shape their characters and little mass of brains. Trying to keep their ravenously curious minds fed.

Reading to my four children (and driving them around to lessons, practice, sports, etc.) far into adolescence. The driving was pretty dead, but the kids always opened up in the car and we had great discussions.

Sitting helplessly with suicidal students.

Blessing remains at Ground Zero in New York.

In these things I felt utterly indispensible. And outside ego-self.

I suppose I feel that way nowadays about writing and prayer. Holding my breath, diving into the dark, retrieving the pearls of great price belonging not to me, but to everyone.

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