a season of fragments

Creating meaning from scattered moments, half hours, and hours takes strength and purpose and vision. It’s too, too easy to just languish in the not enough time to do.

Our days are often fragments:

Unfinished sentences.

Unfinished conversations.

Unfinished laundry.

Unfinished books read and written.

Here a little, there a little, line upon line.*

Pieces of time connected by strands of musts, shoulds, and ought to’s.

Creating meaning from scattered moments, half hours, and hours takes strength and purpose and vision. It’s too, too easy to just languish in the not enough time to do.

I’m time-challenged.

Always ten, fifteen, thirty minutes late. I stretch the time to fit my need, or want.

Projects can span days, months, years. Put away for seasons or until seasons, finishing is elusive.

But lately, I’ve been challenged.

Challenged to love and really live in the pieces of time I would normally pass, believing them too small:

15 minutes of contemplative prayer,

1 hour of power to get jobs done,** and

20 minutes to write.

To appreciate the fragments and to piece them together.

To use what I have wisely and not ask for more.

* * * * *

My sister, Tamara Rice, is a wonderful writer in a season of work on other writers’ words. She’s been an editor for almost 20 years and these days, is doing it full time while being mom and wife and friend and sister.

We both took time this summer to do as many things with our kids as possible. We are counting summers with children at home now. And there aren’t as many as we’d like. Our babies are twelve years old.

Tamara wrote a piece in a fragment of time at the end of the summer, and I asked if I could share it here while I’m talking about Live the Season. Here’s an excerpt:

Because I’ve Got 20 Minutes …

I neglect my writing in the summer months.

Since my children got out of school 10 weeks ago I have posted precisely four times, and two of them should barely count as blog posts, since one was a photograph with a single sentence and the other was a 200-word writing exercise.

Maybe this shouldn’t count either.

You see, I have set my alarm for 20 minutes—yes, exactly 20—and have promised my daughter that when my alarm goes off I will hit publish and get back to our day, because she is more important than filling the blogosphere with more words and opinions or even stories and feelings.

* * * * * *

Read the rest of my sister’s wonderful post over on her blog, Hopefully Known. Yes, written completely in 20 minutes. While you’re there, check out some of her other writing. She’s amazing.

Making the most of our time, as fragmented as it is, brings satisfaction.

I want to be content with pieces.

Deb's signature for blog

 

 

 

smallbutton64seasonstree

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Isaiah 28:13

**that’s for another post

 

our harvest of one

Less of a post, more of a picture.

My youngest son and I planted a garden around our house in the woods this year. Just a little one.

I neglected the lettuce til it was consumed by slugs, I failed to thin the radishes, and the peas were sparse.

The cucumbers fared much better and yielded several jars of pickles, the topping for a few salads, and a relish tray for a potluck. Our single tomato plant produced several delicious tomatoes, enough for a few BLTs and burgers. And the corn we grew in a container — which apparently doesn’t work well — gave us a mutant we affectionately called “corn nubbin.”

The prize of our modest crop, however, was this beautiful little sugar pumpkin. This hearty harvest was the lone survivor of six plants of trailing vines, dozens of blooms, and nearly a dozen tiny starts that didn’t get bigger than a cherry tomato and paled into mush. We tended this little pumpkin carefully, and set a dessert plate under it to keep it off the ground . . . and get it used to its fate. 🙂

This sweetie pie has a special center place in our home now.

Our harvest of one . . . to share with you.

Have a blessed day of rest,

Deb's signature for blog

pumpkn joy

 

 

smallbutton64seasonstree