I don't really feel much like writing. I wanted to just post some super adorable pictures of my kids and the Christmas tree I let them decorate, but being as technologically savvy as I currently am, I was unable to figure out how to upload them to blogger through my iPad. Sigh.
I've been in a season of deconstructing, of paring everything down spiritually speaking, of finding the lowest common denominators. It's a lot freer here, away from everyone else's expectations. I'm doing less, striving less, stressing less. I'm resting, reading, taking deep breaths and long, hot soaks in the bathtub. I'm lighting candles and seeking out quiet, stretching my tense muscles, centering on who I'm made to be. I'm so much less concerned about explaining myself to everyone with a concern or warning.
I'm loving indie-folk music with a mad passion. It serenades my mystic vagabond soul. I find I connect to the Divine best, easiest, through a random ballad, a well written line in a book, the sounds of Ella's sweet laughter, the taste of fresh sourdough bread slathered with butter, the smell of fireplaces in the evenings, as people gather round to keep warm... I'm content.
Perfect love casts out fear. I know this very well.