The other night I was scrambling to finish a story on my phone, to be ready to send out the next morning. A friend asked what I was doing.
"I need to find a picture for this moat for tomorrow."
"Why don't you just skip a day?" she asked innocently enough.
I had no words. Skip a day? I have been sending moats out since April of 2010. I haven't missed on Christmas, or the days two of my kids were married, or when John's parents died. Moats went out during the hurricane that wiped out power in my town. Fortunately the city where my server is located didn't go dark. Moats didn't even hiccup when Ben went into the hospital.
It is not as if the world would stop if moats did. But even if the laundry is on back order, the meals are skimpy and the dishes are threatening to avalanche, a story is in the queue before I let my eyelids droop shut.
Sometimes they are, I admit, ordinary. Nothing profound, or life changing. But they are humbly waiting in the inboxes of a thousand people who may or may not click on them.
A few years back my boss at the preschool did a job review. One of the attributes she gave a strong rating was that I showed up every day. Well, not technically as I only worked Mondays and Fridays, but I am faithful on those two days. It occurred to me in a fresh light that that would be important to her. She trusts that I will be there when the kids arrive.
The other night John had a barbershop gig. As in his quartet was paid to stroll around at a party and croon to the guests. He never mentioned when he would be done, and after a long evening with Ben singing, not yelling, at full volume I wished John would walk in the door. But he didn't. I finally herded Benjamin to bed, and climbed into my own. The app that used to tell me where John is no longer does, so I was left to guess. I sent a meek text asking when he would be back, but I
guess he was too busy harmonizing to see it.
Yet I knew that eventually, he would slip in cozily beside me. Because he comes home, every night.
Even if I am ordinary.
