empty spaces

There is a space in my house on top of a shelf that I have been trying to keep clear. I wasn't trying to defy nature--it's not intended to remain clear forever. It was supposed to remain clear until I finish my work year and bring things home. The four objects on my altar at work were eventually supposed to fill that space: a small tree, an empty bowl made from a dried out cantaloupe husk scraped thin that I rescued from the church rummage sale, a chalice made with stones and glass and metal and tea lights, and a small ceramic bowl for a water ritual shared by a group from seminary. I added objects until it felt right, and one day realised: earth, air, fire, water. Not by design, but by working for balance. I like it so much that I want to bring it home.

Then came this party. I invited people, about a third of them came, and my place was stuffed with people having conversation and good food and some of them brought gifts too. The first one was a few stems of lucky bamboo which I put on the altar-to-be and next thing I know it's crowded with tulips and candle and a guide to local restaurants and two funny and sweet cards.

And maybe that's the way of the world, then, a good way to start this fourth decade: you keep spaces open and the unexpected falls into them...but you can do some inviting along the way.

I am grateful for the friends, and the community, and for the tangerine and yellow tulips that just exactly match the socks I've been knitting. I am grateful for people who show up, share themselves, choose connection over isolation. I am grateful that I have learned to let the process work for itself. And I am grateful that I do not have to get up at six in the morning tomorrow. Make empty spaces, invite goodness. Be lucky. Amen.