Simply Today


The noise from the neighbor’s stereo blares loudly as I sit here alone in the living room and try to write. It is 9 p.m. and the day took its toll. I have worked hard and come to the end of my strength. All that is left is my commitment to this writing practice.

I took a more passive approach to this particular day. I surrendered to the natural movement of the life around me, not because I have no will, but because I wanted to try being an observer to my own way of living. I wanted to be fully here for my family.

My children and I went on a short adventure outdoors. We had found a lovely tree shedding its golden leaves and fronds, and we wanted to gather her treasures. The children were delighted, prancing about over the green grass, soaking in the sunlight. I drank in the sun, too, and found my spirit lightened.

It only takes one upward movement of the face to experience the blue of a clear autumn sky. Maybe it’s just me, but it feels bluer than the blue of any other season. It heals me right into the weariness of joint and bone. It energizes me, straight inward to the heart. The children are far too bright not to catch the spirit of this blue-ness, and their joy is uncontainable.

They know all about today’s gifts. The ones in the grass and the leaves and the twigs and the twinkle in the sun’s eye. A cool breeze brought a pause to the mirth as we all spilled in the door to warm our chilled skin, but the merriment still lingered. It carried us through the afternoon.

The day was ended with bread fresh from the oven, slathered in butter. It was ended with hugs and kisses and a thousand reasons to get out of bed for more hugs and kisses. They have a lot of stamina for delaying sleep. I haven’t as much stamina, and I am quite sleepy already. However, the music outside continues, along with many voices trying to talk over it. It’s more joyful than rowdy, really, so I don’t mind it, though it may be a bit more time yet before sleep comes knocking.

Tomorrow is another gift, especially when viewed through the eyes of a child. (If they can release their grip on today.) Wishing you peace tonight. May your sleep be sweet.



Read the rest of the 31 Days of Stability series here.

Jamie Bagley