Waiting

I’ve been waiting a lot. In regards to this blog, I’ve been waiting until I figured out exactly how and why to continue writing. Sharing about my activity — movement, exercise — was starting to feel too much a combination of I had to “show off” a bit with a good dose of “who cares?” One can go on Instagram and into Facebook groups and see people of all ages and ilks demonstrating, sharing, celebrating (and showing off). There is enough fitness sound out there. I don’t want to add static noise into the mix. I more enjoy being inspired by updates from my diligently playful Instagram friend @kanti.chiba or watching the adventurous @ginnymaccoll than sharing whatever I’m doing (or not doing, as more days have been since late last year). (I like to check out the exploratory Darryl Edwards as well, by the way.)

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A Tale of Two Brians (Actually, a Brian and a Bryan)

I recently read a piece in a book by one of my favorite spiritual writers, Brian Doyle, God-rest-his-soul. The piece is called “Prayer in Celebration of  Brief Things, For Example, Church Services.” As Doyle moves through the prayer and mentions things such as mayflies, apologies, small cups of strong coffee, and emails, I thought of . . . moving!

Coming upon Doyle’s piece reinforced other reflections I’ve had recently about brevity or, more so, enough: viewing what I have, and what I am, as enough; desiring no more than enough; being grateful for what is enough. I was primed for a realization about one of my favorite things!

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Acting Like an Adolescent

I was at a church event a couple of months ago. It was a social and activity event for youth in the process of preparing for, or considering, confirmation. One of the activities for the youth was to blow up a balloon and see who could get it the biggest in a certain amount of time.  Beyond the 13-year-old boys-with-13-year-old girls dynamic, it was interesting to watch each of their approaches to the balloon challenge.

Some kids blew up their balloon sort of big but didn’t want to pop it so they stopped early; they didn’t at all approach pushing the capacity of the balloon or using the time they had to work with; they blew air into it, tied it off, and then spent the rest of the time in awkward posturing the way 13-year-olds might do when in the presence of some of the opposite sex.

A couple of other kids went too far and too fast in blowing up their balloons; their balloons popped. And then there was The One Girl.

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