Sunday, February 26, 2012

2012.02.26 Waiting for a Snap Day

I’ve been waiting for a day to open out, snapping cold, brilliant, sun-dried, and billowing like a freshly laundered sheet on the line—clean and pure white.

I’m waiting for a snap day. I want it spread before me.

The weather has been weirdly warm for mid-winter—distinctly New England February grey, nonetheless. Everyone smiles and says, isn’t it warm and nice. Then they hesitate, grin a little shyly. They, like me, have heard of global warming and all sorts of apocalyptic terrors and wonder.

I’m waiting for a snap day to snap the weather out of its gloomy gray and to snap me out of my energyless drear, precipitated by a rejection of my memoir manuscript. The literary agent who read it wrote an encouraging, gracious, hopeful even complimentary letter. While grieving I couldn’t quite trust that part—like the hope of resurrection in the middle of a funeral.

I looked for Godde.

My adult children brought me God in their outpouring of love, not just for poor mom but for me as a writer, woman and priest. They asked to read my book and I’m honored. Perhaps my labor is for them anyway, as it once was in their birthing. They started at the center of my body and they remain at the center of my heart, sharing it with Godde.

Then, gazing listlessly out the window immobilized, I spied a sudden flash of gray, a dash of movement. I watched five small squirrels racing and tumbling all over each other in the large tree right outside my window. Was this another batch of babies emerging out from under the garage roof next door? These grey squirts were playing. They must be kids. They were wild and amusing and lifted my spirit an inch or two.

The little squirrels were not taxed. They brought me God. I knew because my heart jumped.

Then Lo! A snap day dawned. Today. Sunday/sun day—Godde’s day, or one of them. Snap!

It takes a great leap of faith to believe in God—and an even greater leap to believe in yourself, to create, to put your faith into some work and then put it out there.

Once at a writers’ conference I attended the leader/author asked me, “Do you ever write about anything but God?” I hesitated, so sharp did his question feel, and so silenced my mind.

“Yes,” I said, then, “No. Is there anything else to write about, really, deeply?”

I had an answer then, so I know I will find one now.

And I, like my father used to say, will “snap to it.”