Somewhere, a reader sighs after they click my blog and recognize an old post pulled from my archives. Sensing their disappointment, I apologize, and feeling like a heel, murmur:
New content is coming! Soon! I promise!
For the past several weeks, I have been away from my desk, romping with grandchildren, pushing my granddaughter high on her swing, singing songs, as I once did with my little ones. Sunshine sparkled as the wind gently tousled our hair, and my Little Miss, only 13 months old, smiled and clapped.
Later, the two of us splashed at her water table, and when she emptied her plastic watering can all over the porch with glee, I realized I am finally old enough to delight in such things again, just like my granddaughter. After a while, she toddled over to me and shot her arms straight out, asking to be scooped up, and I thought: How wonderful is this?
Later, I rocked her newborn brother, so handsome and snuggly, the scent of his head, divine. He made little peeps as he slept on my shoulder, and I am old enough to see that infancy is fleeting–the days are long but the years are short–so I leaned back and hummed another lullaby, as I reveled in the wonder of this precious person.
Before dinner, I raced our four-year-old grandson–One, two, three, go!–from the kitchen to his backyard, and we played basketball and chit-chatted about things such as goaltending and alley-oops. Then I upped the ante, and we poked around until we found a small beach ball and took turns hurling it onto the roof, aiming to make it roll back and sink into the basketball net below. We were highly unsuccessful, but one of his attempts was this close, and we squealed and laughed and hollered in delight as he gave me a fist bump, yelling, Nonnie, this is so fun!
Once upon a time, I played with our children, but did not typically think to make up such a silly game like throwing a ball upon our slanted rooftop, given the fact that I was busy with the daily warp and woof: homeschooling, perpetual laundry, wrangling schedules, chores, and preparing three meals (plus snacks) daily for our family of six.
But now? I am Nonnie, a grandmother who sees the mighty forest through all of those trees.
After basketball, my grandson and I stepped inside and played store. He was the cowboy in charge of the joint, a cowboy with an American flag-cowboy hat, red boots, and a rope just right for lassoing. He fastened a cape around his neck because, of course, he is a superhero cowboy.
I was the inquisitive customer who purchased a flag, a lawnmower, two sandwiches, stones, a few sticks, and fruit, which cost nothing less than a hundred and seventeen million dollars. The store closed when it was time for the store’s owner-superhero-cowboy to feed and water his horses, which took one minute, maybe two.
After that, we read the Billy and Blaze books.
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No sooner did I return home from playing with and caring for these three beauties, helping our daughter adjust to life with two babies, than my husband and I received the news that our son had been in an accident, which prompted us to race back to the town from which I had just returned. We prayed for much of the drive, phoned our other children to share updates as we rallied, and listened to many Psalms on our Bible app.
God protected our son, but his injuries are painful, and will take time to mend.
This scare was both jarring and clarifying, reminding me that I am a woman who writes, and not a writing machine. Life happens, and there will be times I repost here on The Palest Ink in order to be present for my favorite people. I am a person, with a family to love and serve in busy seasons, tumultuous times, and in unexpected events. When my family hurts, I hurt. And sometimes, it is good and right for me to lay down my pen and just be.
I create sentences slowly, taking time to craft each weekly post, resisting the notion of churning out passable content for the sake of getting her done. I know that my words will better serve my readers when properly seasoned with time, thought, and care; left to gently simmer for a bit.
All of this to say…
June is a wild child with projects outside of my blog, the excitement of our son returning home from the mission field for a few precious weeks, our family vacation, plus a healthy dose of time set aside to enjoy and encourage our children and grandchildren.
So I thank you in advance for your kind understanding.
Still, I warble:
New content is coming!
Soon!
I promise!
Indeed.
After a few reruns.
This month marks six years of weekly blogging here at The Palest Ink, and it has been my joy to serve you. You may click the quill to support my writing ministry. Thank you!
The Palest Ink 