Confession: Sometimes enough is enough. Even of a really good thing. I had to step out of the loud, happy family gathering and go for a little walk.
I love my Coblentz people. But we are (self included) a strange herd.
We’ve had two days of congenial concourse: turkey and trimmings and talk, games and goodies and garnishes, brunch and bebop and belly laughs.
I went for a walk, black boots tromping packed earthen road, wind on my cheeks. I found a pool of still water and I threw stones at it. I thought it was like the heart of God, and I was dropping my troubles in. As I walked on, I gathered stones and held them, dirty and mottled, in my fists. One stone for every trouble—things like Holidays and A Stony Heart and A Pounding Headache and Disregarded Dreams and My Most Motley Beloved Family (a whole cluster of pebbles).
I sat on a bridge beside a quiet stream and listened to the wind in the hemlocks and talked to God, and I threw those stones, flung them far from me or dropped them down, down, down, till they lay in peace on the streambed. I watched the splashing, the way the water leaped up to absorb, the way it rippled and was calm. And I looked beneath the surface and found a world of shimmering reflection reaching deeper than dreams, quivering, sparkling, alive.
I thought about living.
So much more is going on than we are aware. People show themselves to each other in odd ways, and sometimes only the shallowest parts. The real deeps are untouched, and God beneath all.
I had to cry a while, and then I got up and brushed off my bum and walked back, and the peace trailed after me all the way home.