Last week, I got a haircut. As we counted out the six weeks to my next appointment, the gal who cuts my hair said, “Let’s see… six weeks… that will be December 23.”
I’m sort of still in shock about that, to be honest. And I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m pretty sure I’ve spent a few minutes of every day since then taking a dozen deep breaths in disbelief that the time has sped by so quickly this fall.
It’s been a tough one for me, friends, and for some of my favorite people. Within a single month, some of the folks closest to me experienced heart-breaking loss. And then I experienced heart-breaking loss. And then another friend, even more heartbreaking.
And time just kept marching on, as it does, while I sat on the couch and tried to think coherent thoughts. I haven’t been able to write about how I’ve felt over the last ten weeks, and as a result haven’t written at all, about anything. No journaling, despite my hours spent staring at blank paper. No poems.
And then last week, I was asked to write a prayer for our church service.