Sometimes I think the sky was created just for me. But I know that’s not so.
Still, on a cool Sunday evening – target shooting with my husband while wearing his free old work cap he got from a seed dealership to block out the, well, you see it above – I look up and whisper thanks for a sun sky just for me.
I’ve been reading a book titled Surprised By Joy: The Shape of My Early Life, another of C.S. Lewis’ chronicles, this one traveling readers down his road from faith to atheism, and back to faith again.
While reading C.S. Lewis, I am reminded of my father. Not that he is a religious man, but that he was a melancholy, basement study-dweller that I imagine Lewis to have been. I remember times of opening his office to see him writing away his anger, his disappointment, his worries of running three businesses while wondering if he had made the right choices, done the right work. I think most men wonder this time to time if they’re going to be truly honest with themselves.
Later on at night when everyone was asleep, I would open the door to his study, stepping on books and papers over to his desk. I would open his little notebook and read his poetry, not being able to make any sense of it. I think he did that with purpose.
And what I learned from my father, is too much melancholy can make the mind and soul weary, and we need that balance of joy and thanksgiving, unless we become consumed with what ifs.
Only keep your ears open and your mouth shut and everything will lead you to everything else in the end – C.S. Lewis