I didn’t want to write today.  I felt empty.  Down-in-the dumps.  What’s the point?  What do I have to say that anyone wants to hear.

I meditate.  I read some of my book for book club.  I read some of novel I wrote.  I read some blogs.  I discover a new blog through my link-up with Laurel’s Gratitude Monday.  It’s “Mother of Nine.”  Rather than inspired and gracious, I feel frustrated and jealous.

I feel even less motivated to write.  Woe is me; I should make myself some Tear Water Tea.

I go outside to work on my water garden.  Physical labor is what I need.

Each spring, I must re-level the pond edges.  Winter freezes, thaws, heaves, and settles my creation.  Water is the great revealer.  Water seeps from the low spots.  Water points out I am no longer near perfect in my creation.

I lug rocks and shovel dirt and check with my level.  I am ready to fill up again.  This year I will build a retaining wall in hopes of staving off winters damage.

I am hot.  I am out of breath.  I am exhausted.

Inside again, I savor a slice of leftover ice-cream pie that Duckie surprised me with just a couple of days ago.  I let each bite melt in my mouth, tasting the sweet and the bitter of the chocolate; feeling the smoothness of the cocoa butter and the cream; crunching the dark cookie crust; letting the cold sooth my senses.  (It’s been four days since I weighed myself.  Based on a dream, I decided to refocus my thoughts away from weight and calories, and onto my life’s mission.  More on that another time.

I remember something Mathew Kelly wrote about contemplating Sunday’s sermon throughout the week.  Father Steve started with how we often feel frustrated when we don’t know where we are going or how we will get there.  Sunday I laughed about the image he created.

“That’s the secret to my faith,”  I told Loved-One.  “I get lost so easy that I just trust that somehow I will get there.  And I  do.  I always get where I need to go, albeit, not always the route I thought I’d take or in the time-frame I hoped I would.”

I thought of “Mother of Nine,” and how I am second of nine.  I’ll invite her to Once a Little Girl.  I wonder if she feels frustrated some days.  I bet she’ll like seeing how all her hard work will someday pay off.  I know Mom does.  I bet Mom would like to read some of what “Mother of Nine” writes.  They could be great support for each other.

The edges of my water garden are level.  I balance the chemicals and install the filter and the bubbler.  The koi (Zorro and Blu) are healthy and hungry.  I hold out hope that Ida, the third koi, is in there under the lily pads and yet-to-be cleared algae.  Frogs are leaping every which-away.  Soon, I trust, the water will be less  murky and I will see clear through to the bottom, clear as glass.  I long for that day.

I jot down a few thoughts I want to share.  And here I am.  No longer frustrated.  No longer lost.  Right where I’m supposed to be.  I remember the end of Father Steve’s sermon:  I am the way.  I have faith that soon I will see clearly my path forward.  In the meantime, I’ll wander in the murkiness with trust in my heart.