My friend Marcia has three red bird feathers stuck to the outside of her kitchen window. I worry about that bird, despite her continued assurance that she's “sure he's fine.” I don't know how you leave a clump of yourself on someone's window and be fine. But I join her in hoping for the best. Justine says that if you see a bird on the ground who has flown into a window, you should put a box over it for awhile. That will let it be safe and regain itself. Then you remove the box and the bird will fly away. “Unless it's dead.” Thanks, Justine.
This is my tenth week in the box.
Lessons From Week Ten:
I've had all this time on my hands. There isn't much you can do from inside the box. Lots and lots of time, and lots and lots of pain. Broken wings and hearts and clumps of your feathers all around town. I laid around unconscious for awhile, and I've cried many times, and other sweet souls have met me here and other confusing souls have said all the wrong things, and worse yet, some haven't said anything. I've sat around and gained 5 pounds and watched all six seasons of How I Met Your Mother. I did these things because it's all I could do. I could cry, and sleep, and eat, and talk, and watch sitcoms.
Then, week ten. I started flossing.
That's how it started. I thought to myself, well, I've got a lot of time on my hands. Sure, I could go conquer the world I guess, but so far my list of abilities since that glass-hitting incident is: cry, sleep, eat, talk, watch sitcoms. Not ready for world conquering. But you know, I could floss.
And I could do yoga.
I could start actually taking vitamins and eating breakfast.
I could read my Bible.
I could find some excellent books.
I could find (slowly, gently, bravely) a few new friends.
And so it went.
I find myself being grateful for this season of life, in week ten. I'm thanking God that He gave me a box. A window of time to heal, to recover, to regain myself. Dare I say it, love myself. And, amazingly, I am finding that this is a good and right thing to do. I feel my muscles stretch in a yoga pose, and I think, “I'm taking care of my body.” I wonder how long it's been since I've actually felt attached to my body. Since we've been friends.
I read God's Word and cry. I read other people's words and I cry. I remember that I love words. More than anything I love words. I wonder how long it's been since I knew that as deeply as I know it this week, from the box.
I find myself sitting across the table from women I barely know, and I hear my voice in the room. I nod as they talk and I hear them and my heart resonates. I wonder how long it's been since I wasn't trying to lead, or teach, or hurry, or fix. I wonder how long it's been since I just showed up as Kylee. How long since I simply brought what I have and left with full arms.
I went grocery shopping tonight. I thought about what I would feed my husband this week. And my heart lit up. I realized for the first time that I liked that I could feed the people I love. That I could make food with my hands and invite them to a beautiful table. I wonder how long (I wonder if ever) it's been since I actually enjoyed this instead of feeling so pressured to get-stuff-done-hurry.
Lesson from Week 10: The box is a gift.