The day of small things

I awoke this morning after several sets of strange, vivid dreams. Seperate, and yet somehow connected, the first was set on a steep, grassy hillside somewhere in Pennsylvania. The location seems as real as life, but I've never really seen it. Its occurence has resurfaced several times, but I'm not sure if it's merely the culmination of all that delights me in those rolling hills, or really some captive memory I can't quite recall.

The steep hillside was carved and soft. There were rutted pathways running parallel along the slope, and scattered in these waving lines were women and men with old, broad-brimmed hats and flapping garments. The weather was as I picture Ireland, and it seems that was why each person was scuttling along with a perceptible haste. Each woman seemed to possess a handful of flowers, and it was obvious a funeral was to be had.

Juxtaposed in this little reverie came the thought of an old-known soul. He lost his way a bit back, and has since destructively made his way through woman after woman in hopes of re-collecting his spilled hope. I know not whether the funeral was for this man, or some other unrelated. I woke stirred, and laid there for quite some time considering this crooked sphere upon which we've all landed.

A friend spoke last night out of Zechariah 4:10, which says "despise not the day of small things." I ate those words, and apparently as I slept, they were digested into a great, sobering mass of nutrement.

Our lives consist of "small days," and while my eyes perceive my days as most insignificant, this is not so. Everything great comes first in small, seemingly unrelated spasms of hope, and if we hold out long enough, temples are built, great evils collide, and great good is wrought. I want to know this; to press it in and down, and birth it daily in my life. I desire this with every drifting tendril of my fraying soul, and I desire this for all.

I decided last week to forego my grad school ambitions, and take to the relishing of my small days. I am hoping to embark on a little bit of a writing adventure. Thanks to my wonderfully encouraging friends, and the recommendation long ago from Deb Cory, I will be endeavoring to record a memoir of sorts, detailing some of the cracked paths that have brought me here. I think of nothing but words, Him, His Creation, people, and sewing these together in some redeeming work of His love. I know not the shape, length, or gravity of such a foolish endeavor, but I can't think of anything more impractical to which I'd pour out my life! I thought I'd share this with you all...