New Years’ & Waiting & Mopping.

1/10/24

It’s late evening after supper, and I’m waiting for my husband to come home. He’s still in the shop, fixing things — his new hobby. My hand reaches for my phone frequently, and I’m hoping to feel the telltale buzz of it in my grasp, because I’m waiting to hear what they’ve named my sister’s second child. The candle my mother-in-law gave me for Christmas is all but burned down, and I move to end its languishing flicker. As I twist, another pain travels across my lower abdomen, and I know I must lay back down to rest. 

Last Saturday night the pain came on with no warning. What had I done, I wondered? Did I pull a muscle, get food poisoning, get a parasite? No, it turned out. Just my appendix. On Monday they took it out, and now my body is weak and a little slow to trust after being cut into and pumped with things it doesn’t recognize. That’s why there is yogurt fermenting on the counter, which is intended to build my immune system back after all the antibiotics, along with all the sauerkraut I can manage. A year ago, I wouldn’t have imagined taking antibiotics and maybe would have said (if not truly meant) that I’d rather die. Thank the Lord for time and the maturity that comes with it. Now I will accept that this is just a good reminder to press on faithfully with good and nourishing food.

I remember cleaning the bathroom last Saturday, admiring my newly polished vinyl floor. I was smiling so big to myself that I have the blessing and honor of a home to keep and tend to. We talk a lot about our future house and what it will be like, what rooms we want to have, how big it should be I dream about how I will arrange things when I have a whole house for a canvas instead of just this apartment, and I say to myself that I will not be so maximalist in my decorating, when actually there is no guarantee that I will change.

While I mopped the floor I pondered on new years’ resolutions. I haven’t made any, necessarily. At least, not any new ones. They are the same resolutions I have been keeping for years now, but they are goals that know no specific end, better called intentions. The two of us, my husband and me, continue to plan and dream and work towards building our home. I will keep praying for the rhythms of my body to fall into place and let go of my old fears. So much nicer would it be to replace the old fears with hopeful dreams of holding our babies someday soon. 

And I will plant more potatoes this year.

Perhaps finish my novella.

A good idea, too, would be to keep a less cluttered schedule. That way it’s easier to say yes to spontaneous cups of tea with a friend in the middle of an afternoon.

Read more books. Be more creative in the kitchen. Have people over more often. Spend less time on social media. All of these worthy pursuits. Above all, Lord, make me more like You.

From the remarkable high of mopping my bathroom floor, I came crashing down to the intolerable pain of an enflamed appendix. The rest, you can imagine, is not very interesting. But now it’s gone, so I suppose it can never happen again.

It has been gray for days now, but I love January. Some will say midwinter isn’t a good time for making goals, but to me it seems only natural. What better time for dreaming and scheming? As soon as I am up and about again, I plan to organize my seeds. We will have a bonfire to burn the dried greenery leftover from Christmas decor. I believe heartily in winter hibernation, which makes the new life of Spring all the more glorious as you wake up to the light. It’s a little early yet, but I am beginning to feel what I feel before I feel that…and it is good to remember.

I have been oh-so-especially-grateful for family over the last few days as we’ve had our little spell of drama. The waiting is not over yet and I hate not being able to conquer the world in the usual fashion, but it’s rather cozy to have nice people bring you stew while you do nothing but sit there and watch Shaye Elliott videos.

Happy new year, my friends. ❤

~ Emma