Today I want to write about falling down.
I fell down ten days ago, struck with a sudden and severe case of vertigo that brought me to the floor, then kept me in bed, unable to lift my head.
When I was able to open my eyes, I scrolled through Facebook and watched a few videos. One was of a woman talking about giving herself permission to fall apart. Another was a Ted Talk about allowing girls to fail.
Thursday mornings are reserved for my weekly prayer call with my prayer partner, Danny. This week, the weather forecast promised an amazingly perfect summer day, so I suggested to Danny that, rather than talk on the phone, we meet for a bike ride along the lake.
We didn’t need to exchange our usual prayers because, all around us, Mother Nature was in full exaltation: the air was cool, the sky was crisp and blue, the water sparkled. We felt as though we were receiving a prayer rather than giving one.
I have terrible writer’s block today. I’m talking the worst. I’ve stared out the window, snacked on stale peanuts, made a cup of tea and let it get cold while I paced around, yelled in frustration (just once), done two loads of laundry, and bought a pair of boots online.
All I want to do is write about being thankful. Why is it so hard? I think it’s not because I have nothing to say, but because there’s too much and no easy place to start.
The story on my lips all week was how I was sick with the flu for 11. Whole. Days. This was so blatantly unfair, especially since I was hit during spring break, when I was supposed to be enjoying a vacation and some eagerly awaited alone time while my kids sailed the Caribbean with their dad. My plan was to treat myself to a 3-night getaway at a Bed & Breakfast. I made it there only to spend the whole time in bed (in what was, admittedly, a much nicer set of sheets than what I have at home).
👉 Enjoy dedicated writing space just steps from Lake Michigan
👉 Benefit from one-on-one developmental editing sessions
