Like Fireflies in the night and Swallows in the morning

by Anna Blanch on October 5, 2011

There’s a smattering and flickering of lights around. Some are on the distance, the horizon even or at the ends of a labyrinth of tunnels, while others are flickering around me sometimes growing brighter and others darting up and off behind me as I walk forward.

As a child I was often chastised for being impatient. Maybe I was. Maybe I still am.

But, little by little, the reality that I have physical limitations has taught me, and is teaching me the patience necessary.

“God, grant me the strength for what is necessary”

A silently held prayer. A whispered prayer, a prayer uttered unintelligibly to human ears, but shared, echoed, interceded.

The days are getting better. Longer. I am getting stronger again. Once again I remember that my worth is not in my productivity level, nor my ability to keep commitments or social engagements. The cottage has enveloped me, cocooned me in it’s warmth and safety. I am peaceful here. Hopeful.

……and then the laptop of my harddrive suffered one of those errors that make your heart sink.

I looked at that black screen with a blinking arrow for about 30 seconds before it registered….

#$%^^&* – this could be really bad.

For the next twelve hours I lived with the (helpful) delusion that this was a systems file error, something fairly easy to fix and which wouldn’t compromise the contents of my life in 1’s ad 0’s on that harddrive.

I was grateful not to be anxious. Grateful that I know I could pull together the fragments of my thesis from backups and emails.

I’m glad i didn’t know the extent of it.

I have lost some – my outlook folders and files, all my shorthand saved web addresses and the cookies that saved non-urgent or important passwords etc, and the sense of comfort that comes with everything being in its place. Thanks to the technical wizardry of a colleague and the sage advice of a twitter friend, I now have all my documents and photographs safely on an external harddrive.

I’m glad things are pretty much okay. That with a new internal harddrive I will have a functioning portal to the world and a sophisticated lump of plastic and electronics on which to write the rest of my thesis. Oh, my, I think the hardest part is the sense of uncertainty, the waiting, the not knowing.

I’ll have to reinstall much. There is a sense of loss. But it could have been worse.

It’s on a shell of a reinstalled operating system i write this. Only Firefox and a couple of other programs are currently installed till I wait for the ‘guts’ of the new computer. I write this and I realise I am a little anxious. I’m not in a puddle on the floor – tears did not come this time, even though there’s alot of emotion in those 1’s and o’s.

In a weird way, a new harddrive is like a clean slate. Not unlike what Jesus offers me each and every day.

Strange though too, I wonder if I don’t feel some of the same anxiousness I feel over this harddrive that I feel over the possibilities of a new day, a clean slate. Do I rely too much on my own smarts and plans to get through? to not panic? to be ‘together’ and organised and hopeful?

So this week, today, I’m praying for calm. I’m praying for restraint and reserve. I’m praying my body will continue to rejoice with me in the relief of feeling a little better each day. That i’ll have a little more in the tank for the next big thing. That my harddrive and my thesis can be resolved, written, salvaged. And that i’ll be okay with facing myself each day in the mirror, as just me. Just Anna. An impatient child of God.


Life: UnmaskedThis challenge and invitation from Joy in conjunction with post I wrote about “getting real” prompted my involvement with This Life: Unmasked.

This is my fourth post for the challenge. Here is my first: Life: UnMasked, my second, Ready or Not and my third, Is the Heart Home?.

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  • Beccabumps

    Thank you!

    Thank you!

    The aching yearning in me to be ‘clan’, to find community and identity and a home extended beyond my limited (limiting?) nuclear family, allowing who I am to echo, be mirrored and validated in the shared pains, hurts and hopes ….that ache is eased a little each time I read you unmasked.

    • Goannatree

      thankyou for taking the time to comment. It means alot. I'm humbled that these life unmasked posts can have value to someone else.

  • @prestonyancey

    What do I say here, friend? This is poetry.

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