The greatest test of courage on the earth is to bear defeat without Losing heart.
— R. G. Ingersoll
Spirit is a fragile thing. Mine is strong and fresh in the morning. The day wears on it, rubbing it, thinning it, scrapping it until it is merely threads. I get in my car and begin the restoration.
I drive in silence, listening to the hum of tires on the road. I clear my mind of the poison. Thoughts that question my worth, my beliefs, my ability. I breathe deep and remember. Choice is essential to growing readers. Writing words matters to making sense of the world. Conferring at the point of need changes lives. I massage these things into my spirit.
Slowly it thickens.
At home my kids hug me. Andy kisses my forehead. I create in the kitchen, and we sit around the table, eating, talking, giggling. Family life swirls and wraps around my spirit.
It becomes whole.
Bedtime prayers and books slow down the day. I’m at my computer, and Andy sits across the room. My fingers tippy-tap around the keyboard. I write. Words. Sentences. Poems. Articles. Chapters. Books.
My spirit is restored.