I hiked because it was crazy. Correction. I was crazy. Feeling the anxiety of advent.
The silliness of it is astounding.
I’m not 9 months pregnant taking a dirty, long, journey on a donkey.
Instead, me and my crazy are baking last minute cookies in a nice, cozy kitchen. Anxiety. Really?
Back to the hike.
I am not sure why the tidbit of information floated to the top of my craziness cocktail, but in the midst of the tension, I remembered a line I read on this blog. Nester talked about doing only the things that SHE could do.
Ah. Relax into that, won’t you?
Only I could hike my body up a mountain.
Good friends could text reminders to take care of me. No one could do the work of taking care of me.
So I took my feet and walked my legs right up the mountain. It wasn’t far into my own journey on the dirt path that I felt a nudge on my shoulder. A bit awkward, I admit, since I was hiking solo. Still, I turned toward the nudge and saw an amazing view. Cloudy sky with those God rays peeking through. All mist and light and drama right there over the mountains.
I chuckled. The realization of results of being kind to me—the only person I can control in a day, any day, to create kindness toward me—shone through all the grey haze. My useless worry (a bit redundant right?) was in the spotlight.
I may still stub my toe on this lesson. Fumble as I recite my life and this being kind to me comes out like a sentence full of cinnamon, linoleum, and anonymity.
Since I am also the only one who can speak the praises of my days, then let me continue the counting of my fish:
*cookies for breakfast, cookies after lunch, cookies because and cookies with cookies is awesome
*so many laughs in one night, so many friends packed into one home, so much food packed into my stomach!
*money for the gas tank
*the smell of Grandma Rose’s pumpkin bread in the oven
*getting to share the pumpkin bread twice
*money gifted to me to gift to them
*the smell of Maine at my front door