September 4: An unseen sun made the cloud edges gleam like white piping on pillows. Then a neighbor along my route home popped out of his yard with a carton of his farm-fresh eggs. Would I like them? $5. Yes, but I had just $2. Deal, he said: an introductory offer. And so I write this, next to the park, watched by clouds, leaning my notebook on eggs that had rested inside hens this very morning.
Thursday September 5: Four clergy walk into a bar. No, I mean a brewpub. No, I mean, one was already there chatting with a friend. And Kevin arrived to join Kasia and me. And two rectors stopped by our table, casual in their black shirts and trousers, white colors tucked away. We agreed to get together again to share promising ideas for our churches, maybe over a beer.
September 6 At our local deli, a man turned to me: “If my wife were here right now, she’d say your hair is fierce!” I laughed and thanked him, especially for the word “fierce.” He leaned in: “That’s the young people’s word, you know.”
September 7: I rounded a street corner this morning and was met by such a lovely breeze that I removed my ball cap to savor it to my roots. And then from a few blocks over, a trumpet played a melody. I know in February the breeze will be a chilling wind, but I am here now and I exult.
September 8: I attended a Sacramental Meeting today with my friend, a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. A young woman offered a thoughtful reflection on our gifts. She reminded us that everyone has at least one gift, and probably many. She also swept in gifts that society appears not to value: the gift of listening, the gift of weeping, the gift of pondering, the gift of discernment, the gift of faith. Afterwards, she and I agreed that sometimes other people see what we cannot. We might be too preoccupied, or too modest, or too swept up chasing something else to see ourselves clearly. What do your friends say they love about you? Could that be one of your gifts?
September 9: I scooted from the metro train at the last moment and had to organize my bag on a two-sided stone platform bench. Just then a young woman in a knee-length dress and ankle-high boots stepped onto the bench in front of me. Startled, I watched her stride down the other side of the bench, jump down, step onto the next bench, stride a few steps, jump down and then proceed to the next. I caught up with her (it’s easier to walk on a platform than to scamper like a high-heeled sprite), grinned and asked her: just for fun? She returned my grin: Yes, just for fun.
September 10: I slipped on wet pavement this morning and did something scary to myself. And so, while I remembered to get my cup of coffee, I forgot to grab a croissant. Because pretzels make a sad breakfast when I’m feeling sorry for myself, I resolved to visit the deli on my way back from a meeting — and to re-enter my building through our security screening rather than hobble all the way back to my office where my credentials lay. That’s when the blessings started to roll in: I slowed my walk. I rode peacefully up a set of escalators instead of striding purposefully. I got a same-day doctor’s appointment. (And in the crowded hospital I saw the same smiling young man, twice within 90 minutes.) Finally, when a security guard told me this would be a blessed week, I disclosed my injury. She laid her hand on my shoulder and offered a short, powerful prayer for my healing. I’m still moved by it. How lucky I am that these kinds of things keep happening to me.
Dear Readers, do you find yourself noticing small delights during your own day? I’d love to share yours here, in a new postscript to my weekly log. Send me a few sentences or a photo. And let me know if I should mention your name. Email your Delight here: Carolann.firstname.lastname@example.org. You might, as I do, start finding them in surprising places. Let’s glimpse bits of joy together.