Halleleluia. The old Saskatchewan winter has flipped over to a new Saskatchewan spring. But the sweet weather made it almost impossible to stick to my writing routine last Friday.
I complained to my friends on Facebook: “Outside my garden doors, the birds beckon. Also out there, I notice a (lately) rare combination of sunshine, warmth, and NO wind. Inside, dust from our gravel roads coats every surface. What to do? Stick to my desk or trash my writing rut? Sew? Plant the handful of lovely shrubs I bought yesterday (an impulse buy, but lots of room for them.) Plan a (cheap and easy, of course) pond or fountain? Cook? Clean house? Maintain my website? Play my harmonica? Go for a bike ride? Call a friend? Ah, I’m so blessed to have choices, when so many have none. But I think I’ve just completed, right here, the only writing I will do today. …”
Friends responded, urging me to get outside. Then Maxine, a friend from Ontario, where we lived for a time, tossed this bit of advice into the mix: “Flip a coin between the top two choices. If it decides in favour of the one you really were not sure you wanted to do then you will know because you will feel disappointed. Great, now you know at a gut level what to do - the other option, because it makes you feel good!”
I like that. I may use it next time I’m torn between two equally good decisions. But I didn’t toss the coin that day, because I knew what I had to do. Like a kid in a classroom, it became utterly impossible for me to sit at my desk. I fidgeted. Lost concentration. Twirled my hair. It’s hard to type while twirling one’s hair.
On Sunday evening, I returned to Facebook with this: “Weekend report: Ditched my desk on Friday, ignored it all weekend. Took a very long bike ride (freshly graded gravel roads + coaster bike = major frust...exercise). Visited with my daughter and played with the beans. Had one of them overnight. Gave one a sewing lesson. Scared the bejeebies out of another. Took several walks in the country and about town. Explained to a little person why some of the names on our town’s cenotaph are followed by the word “killed”. Worshipped with friends. Helped the Preacher pack for his trip. Finished an eight book series on the Civil War, reading late at night. Attended a friend’s father’s funeral. Called my own father. Ignored telemarketers. Took a rare Sunday afternoon nap. No shrubs planted. No major housecleaning or cooking. And no words smithed. Returning to my desk tomorrow, refreshed by a string of little important things.”
God intended our callings to be a delight, not a drudge. Do everything you can to hit pause – even if what you do instead is a string of little important things. God smiles on those too. Especially those.
