It’s one thing to write about how days unfold and time passes. That tends to be the interesting stuff…that’s what you write home about. That’s what fills up blog posts and emails and lengthy messages.
I’m wrestling a little bit with the idea of losing the moment-by-moment glimpses by looking big-picture, though. Usually, I’d say that a photograph would capture a moment and so I didn’t have to try to zero in on one instant, but (1) my ipod camera (that I almost always have with me) has stopped working and (2) it’s not usually safe to carry around my big camera for day-to-day activities, so I’ve just watched milliseconds pass into moments into hours into days into the stuff I summarize in blog posts.
I’m going to make an effort to try to capture some of my moments here instead of just my days. It’s a definite goal of mine…
Last night I was riding home from volunteering at Semillas de Amor and I had one of those ordinary minutes that I was just extraordinarily aware of.
Carolina was on my lap, and Abby was wedged next to me beneath Frankie. Javier drove and we had something like thirteen people crammed into the six seats, the truck at more than double its capacity. Exposed toes got brushed with little shoes and hands were sat on or pinned between bodies. My stomach growled for want of the dinner fast-approaching. The crank window was rolled all of the way down (Carolina had had way too much fun with that) and the cold air kissed my face, a refreshing contrast from the also-pleasant body heat we were all sharing.
The girls in the front seat were belting out American pop songs from their iPods with distinct Guatemalan accents and the little kids in our laps counted out days and weeks until my birthday. Their Spanish tutors made small talk in a language I’m still learning to understand, my head spinning with translations and shaking with every bump in the cobblestone streets.
Oh the hill before us square windows shone brightly, the only light coming from inside the houses. Looking through the windshield I saw the silhouettes of playing children crammed in a truck and cars whizzing everywhere. Through the open window I could see Fuego erupting (as is pretty commonplace around here), spewing lava a short distance into the air and sending a bright-red river down the slopes.
In that instant, I saw and felt everything in that moment. I was content, I was present. It was beautiful, and a common, ordinary moment I’ll treasure forever.
I’m wrestling a little bit with the idea of losing the moment-by-moment glimpses by looking big-picture, though. Usually, I’d say that a photograph would capture a moment and so I didn’t have to try to zero in on one instant, but (1) my ipod camera (that I almost always have with me) has stopped working and (2) it’s not usually safe to carry around my big camera for day-to-day activities, so I’ve just watched milliseconds pass into moments into hours into days into the stuff I summarize in blog posts.
I’m going to make an effort to try to capture some of my moments here instead of just my days. It’s a definite goal of mine…
Last night I was riding home from volunteering at Semillas de Amor and I had one of those ordinary minutes that I was just extraordinarily aware of.
Carolina was on my lap, and Abby was wedged next to me beneath Frankie. Javier drove and we had something like thirteen people crammed into the six seats, the truck at more than double its capacity. Exposed toes got brushed with little shoes and hands were sat on or pinned between bodies. My stomach growled for want of the dinner fast-approaching. The crank window was rolled all of the way down (Carolina had had way too much fun with that) and the cold air kissed my face, a refreshing contrast from the also-pleasant body heat we were all sharing.
The girls in the front seat were belting out American pop songs from their iPods with distinct Guatemalan accents and the little kids in our laps counted out days and weeks until my birthday. Their Spanish tutors made small talk in a language I’m still learning to understand, my head spinning with translations and shaking with every bump in the cobblestone streets.
Oh the hill before us square windows shone brightly, the only light coming from inside the houses. Looking through the windshield I saw the silhouettes of playing children crammed in a truck and cars whizzing everywhere. Through the open window I could see Fuego erupting (as is pretty commonplace around here), spewing lava a short distance into the air and sending a bright-red river down the slopes.
In that instant, I saw and felt everything in that moment. I was content, I was present. It was beautiful, and a common, ordinary moment I’ll treasure forever.