A Letter to My Readers

I pull the tangerine olive oil cake from the oven and allow it to cool within its pan as I whip up the cream. The kettle is warming and I gather the smaller plates from the high shelf and stack them upon the table next to the paper napkins, the ones with the watercolor birds in lime and coral. The scent in the kitchen is a wafting warm citrus from the cake blended with the cedar candle flickering above the sink. I hear children down the hallways thumping around, screeches of laughter punctuated with shouts of protest, and as I open the tea cabinet, I consider: which variety will blend with the afternoon rain incessantly drumming upon the rooftop and meet the grey breezy trees swaying outside with its match of considered calm?

I cradle my favorite bronze woodfired mug while I steep the orange rooibos (what it is about winter and citrus?) and I think about perhaps writing a blog post. It seems daunting. Like reentering a room I’ve left aside for a season, and I fear the dust and homesickness that will respond to me if I whisper, “Do I have anything to say anymore? Am I even welcome here in my own space?”

I set the timer (oh, my beloved 15 minute timer) and sit by the computer, and begin…

Dear Reader,

I find the last year, and my break from blogging and podcasting, to have been considerably clarifying. I pray that the challenges of 2020 have been just as much for you as well. One, to our relationship with God, and to the revealings of where and to what exactly our hope, our trust, and our provision has been dependent upon. Two, to the reality of the health of our marriages, and where self-pride—that most stubborn and core of sins—has wedged itself as a burr. Three, to an honest assessment of the relationships we have with each of our children, whether pleasurable (obedience and honor) or antagonistic (criticism and exasperation). Four, to a sober reassessment of the culture we are living in, and to the decisions that must be made of how now we shall live, and to what extent living by truth we will go. Five, to how we will look upon other people, whether useful or beautiful, whether with suspicion or with compassion, with our own narratives (or the ones we adopt) or with understanding on an individual level, with curiosity and a drawing out of the person within. Six, how we will care for ourselves, whether honoring our innate struggle for health and balance or continuing to fearfully seek outwardly for the magic pill(s) to overcome the damage we self inflict or receive through malnutrition and toxic overload. Seven, how we shall run our homes, as places of honor with which to shore up of the foundation of a nation, or as merely a place with which to gather and store our material possessions. I’m sure there are more areas which have been, if not clarifying, at least a bit on the needling side of demanding some sort of attention…

The chimes ring upon my iPhone and I set it aside. Cake must be sliced and served, tea poured, and conversation encouraged. I think, as I sip my tea and feel its comfort bloom within, that perhaps I do have more to say, and I commit to reengaging with my blog, my writing, my readers and my self. I’ll meet you here next week, if you’d like, for tea, and share with you more of my meanderings and goings on.

Blessings,