Jessie Lee Thetford
I played at Yankie Creek Coffee House yesterday.
New songs. Old songs. Others' tunes.
While singing the hymn, "I'll Fly Away," I heard some soft humming along.
I didn't know what to expect when I invited everyone to sing the chorus with me.
So many voices.
in the morning.
When I die
Hallelujah by and by
Part of my journey of returning to self involves journaling.
At night, when my mind runs most rampant, I settle it by trying to articulate everything that's swimming around. All my anxieties, my burdens, my goals, my observations...
I write out my prayers.
Lately, in spite of my fears of how to navigate this new state of things for myself, I find myself writing out praises. Words of thanks. Gratitude.
I am grateful for the mist that hangs low in the morning.
For the home I've been given.
For the darkness before the sunrise, when everything is quiet and still.
I am grateful for the ritual of sipping my coffee, wearing wool socks, and curling up on my couch.
For the sound of turning pages, for listening, for thinking.
I am thankful for rest.
I feel like my life is experiencing this great exhale in preparation for taking in something new.
I am being readied for more space to create and observe and express.
And I'm grateful.
Grateful for all of it.