I want to be in the choir. In step with the people who are snapping their fingers, stomping their feet, slapping their legs. Harmonizing. I am out of step but fully ready to immerse myself in joy. To say I belong even if I’m out of tune and still learning the song.
I grab backwards and flip through old pictures. There I am: in cross country. At camp. College. Young, tiny, beautiful. Experiencing belonging outside of my home.
My daughters are in choirs. They can’t snap their fingers, but they can sing in tune. They are teens and they are belonging to new worlds. Choir and friendship groups. Camp and school. They belong in our home, too. We make a nest and we settle in. They jump out and fly back in. The nest is always here.
I am in choir with them. Chris is in choir with them. We have a song and a melody. My girls bring us their favorite songs and we bring them our stories. I reflect back their light and I turn my light toward them. I am in the choir. The slip-stream of the now is where I want to be. I gather rocks from the beach and I sweep up dirt. I am weaving a nest for where we are today.