If We Were Having Coffee

I’d tell you that sometimes I feel I am back at my roots, standing on a Dakota prairie, with miles and miles of wide openness. The wind is blowing around me, swirling the prairie grass and teasing my nose with various scents.

I’d tell you that I don’t know if I like it, this place where I am. Sometimes I hate it, and sometimes it’s the best thing ever. I’d tell you that lots of good things have happened in our family lately, while I’m standing still and life is swirling around me.

I’d tell you that I don’t realize I anchor all the activity going on around me. I don’t realize how much my family depends on my standing here, being here. I’d tell you that I’m grateful you often remind me of how important that is.

I’d tell you that sometimes I wonder if this is all that’s left for me, this anchor thing. I’d tell you that sometimes it feels so much less than what others are doing.

I’d tell you that now I need to quit overthinking this and just be content with my view from the prairie. I’d tell you that trust is hard; that trusting God is hard, sometimes.

But I’d also tell you that this view from the Dakota prairie is the most beautiful thing. Ever.