Lindsey said it weeks ago, but the phrase she coined stays with me still. "Everyday life is a practice and a poem."
I don't naturally make note of beauty. I don't default to a heart of thanks. (I know. Shocker.) But even I--grumpy, task-oriented, easily-irritated, impatient mess that I am--can learn with miles of practice and oceans of grace.
If by grace, He teaches me to look with deliberate eyes, if through His lens I strain to see what for years I've hurried past, then this is how I trade the to-do list for a poem. I'm discovering a new way to measure life, not by how much I achieve, but by how deeply I appreciate, by how clearly I hear these stanzas He whispers within each moment.
Joining Ann again, practicing:
#72 The boy talking me into a Saturday art project
#73 A recipe for homemade clay
#74 How Daddy miraculously guessed correctly that Caed's creation was a T-Rex
#75 My favorite of the batch -- Blue of Blue's Clues
#77 Dani following up with how she can't choose either, between "a monkey, a princess, a kangaroo, a dog, a ballerina, a rhino or a peopley-kangertar"
#78 How she made us all laugh. Should I add comedian to her list?
#79 His attempt at writing "non-fiction." In the author's foreword, "This book is about the body." And in the page that precedes, "Those lines are vanes."
#80 Little girl's first manicure
#81 The longest I've ever seen her sit still
#82 And smiling the whole time
#83 Sleeping bags for indoor camping
#84 The love of lovies. Caed's declaration, "I'm never going to sell my green blankie. Not even when I go to college. That's a fact."
#85 Dani's imitation, "And I'm never gonna sell my cold blankie. Cuz it is so 'pecial to me."
A poem needn't be flowery, fancy or rhyme. It needn't sway along in perfect pentameter. To be a poem, it must only be seen as such, by someone, anyone, and I don't just mean the experts. If I open my eyes, if I listen closely, if I practice, I begin to hear the hidden stanzas in everyday life, clear as the day--the every day.