Wrangler Dani

First off, I’m sorry, lovelies. For though I know that reading this blog may not (shockingly enough) be the highlight of your existence, I do feel bad for having left you out in the cold to wonder what on earth happened to that Dani girl who used to actually write something of substance now and again. (Or at least something at which to laugh at my expense, ala lost pregnancy tests.) And I really have to be honest about this apology, because even though I have composed multiple stunningly witty posts in my head while driving/washing dishes/writing less-exciting things for which I certainly should have been devoting full brain power, the only reason I’m even awake and writing at this hour is because I feel sorry for my poor Hubs, who is slaving away at a nasty Work Thing, which he is taking in stride and I’m bitter over, as is usually the case.

Also, I’m fairly certain that tonight is yet more proof positive that the Fella and I are built a bit differently, and that he has pulled many more all-nighters than this little early bird has ever dreamed of.  While he calmly goes about his business, working away, making a small pot of coffee and sipping it with professional ease, I boil my hot cocoa into an unrecognizable puddle, holler out his name at regular sleepy intervals for no reason that I can recall, and decide (unwisely) to write a rambling blog post in-between making a nuisance of myself.

Which brings me back to my original point, this rambling blog post. (Ah, the days of the preamble. Very powdered-wig of me, don’t you think?)

I started a new Bible study on Tuesday night, which is awesome, but is not really the point. The point is that one of the leaders asked us to think of times in our lives when we knew that “all is well” – moments when beauty and grace comfort us and we sense that God is near.  Because I’m skeptical and think too much about the wrong things, I didn’t take time to answer, but dismissed it.

But yesterday, it popped into my head, and again today, and I have felt “all is well” surround me like a love-letter. It’s one that I try to cover up sometimes – note the boiled chocolate and incoherent ramblings recorded above – but it’s still there, incessantly, constantly, lovingly, whispering: “all is well” when I see Evan’s face break into an insatiable grin so wide it seems he  his cheeks will crack with the strain, and again when his mom hears a barely intelligible command: “walk” to his horse and gives me that same amazing grin, bursting with joy over such a simple word, spoken softly. “All is well” when I clumsily demonstrate posting by walking slowly in front of my student and awkwardly rising and falling with my imaginary horse’s diagonal, I mess up and get a giggle from both rider and volunteers, but we try it and he rides it perfectly, smiling down at me as I clap and rejoice and thumbs-up as though my life depended on it.  “All is well” when I get peals of laughter when our horses choose inopportune times to deposit their pungent gifts to the world, when a tiny face is buried in long mane for “kisses” and little hands cling to my jacket as though there’s no where else they’d rather be. “All is well” in the green grass after rain, in the smell of horsehair, in the hug of a dear friend, in a “you can do it, sweetie” from a trusted confidante of an older, wiser generation, in the high-five of a newly-confident rider.  I thought about all of the ways that God shows me that “all is well” and all the times that I miss it. I keep walking, keep worrying.  I can’t help but think that God is reminding me of my terrible smallness and His ability to enter my mundane, which really isn’t mundane at all, but beautiful and well.