After Eleven

It's that time of night. I cannot shut off my mind and sleep. A whole day just went by at breakneck speed, and now it's time for instant replays.

Ah, here's the first one now, and I realize I've lied. The morning wasn't breakneck at all. If I had synaesthesia, I'd say it was dull white and crumbly, with a bit of anxious mixed in. Not much happened. It took me four hours to write a five minute speech.

Here's another: I interviewed one of my favorite teachers from high school for a composition project, but it turned into a regular conversation. We talked for an hour and a half about speaking in front of a class, about motivation in teaching, good students and bad students, and people who don't want to learn. It brightened the edges of the day to a cautious happiness in silver.

Another: I gave my speech. It was less than stellar. I sat down sweating, wondering why I couldn't just tell these people what I'd tried to say. Then in the break, one of the ladies in class came up to me. She was a great speaker. She said, "Hey, James. That was great." and she smiled a real smile. I know she knew it wasn't great. She meant it was great that I went up there and tried. And that the world wasn't quite the sick green I imagined.

And one more: I drove home and on the way all the colors of the day were churning slowly. I thought of how strange it was that small moments have so much impact. When I got home, I checked facebook and  read my friend's thoughtful post. I drank a heavenly glass of milk. My cat came and sucked up to me so I would feed it. The colors churned some more.

Now, I'm here, and I can't find a color, or even any two, that really describe the day. Instead, I think it's a combination of two songs:

"Speaking a Dead Language" and "Sunny Day", by Joy Williams. Maybe every day is a different mix of both. I don't know. You might have to stir the contents of each day for a while to find out. But I know I've never ever had a day completely without a touch of real smile, or a cautious happiness in silver. I see God's love in that.


... and now, finally, I can go to bed, and sleep.