This road of faith

Formerly titled Giving thanks 2025, but I didn't get around to writing this yesterday, so....

Sew buttons. Or Ah so! as Brynn, Mirella, and Finny might say. So on and sew forth, or myriad takes on so and sew and when am I going to make any sense? Maybe I'll never be perfectly clear, but Saint Paul does write that currently we see through a glass dimly (1 Corinthians 13.12), and I believe he knew what he was on about.

Cami calculates the distance to the ground, or something like that.

Last night I didn't have much in the way of clarity, but usually the road is darkest before the dawn. Today is cloudy, yet the chickens had an outing, and in her haste to join her sisters, Cami launched, then landed atop our aged greenhouse. It's not like Eric's, and Cami certainly isn't a hawk. She squawked LOUDLY, trying to figure out how to reach the ground, then finally edging her way to the end of the roof, she flew somewhat gracefully, reaching terra firma. She's a funny hen; detests being picked up or even touched, she likes her space, but not that kind of space, LOL.

Off she goes!

I managed very little sleep last night, and despite decent caffeinization today, I'm still feeling loopy, so apologies if this entry veers into weird space. Not Cami the Chicken space, but where my head is at, kinda here, kinda there, kinda all over the place. I'm contemplating giving up my phone in 2026, seriously! Good to contemplate totally off the wall ideas every once in a while, which we did when pondering this chicken gig, yet we acted on that HARD. Would I, or maybe could I is better: Could I set aside my phone for all uses other than as an acting landline telephone for an entire year? Who knows?!? But I can tell you this: If God asks that of me, I won't blink.

Maybe I won't blink because He's already nudging me in that direction, hehehe. Not that we coerced Cami Chicken to fly onto the greenhouse roof, though we did urge her to leave said roof the only way a chicken could, by flying. Thankfully she acquiesced, because if she hadn't and we'd had to get a ladder, she wouldn't have let us retrieve her for treats or worms. These chickens weren't big on mealworms when first offered, so we don't give them any now. Maybe that will alter one day, like me with a phone constantly affixed to my left hip, albeit in my leggings' pocket. A few days ago I didn't have it in said pocket, and I walked upstairs, patting that pocket, then smiling for the.... Lightness, freedom, illicit step-gathering that wasn't being recorded. If I ditch my phone, I'll need a wristwatch, but not a pedometer, because I will also be chucking the recording of steps.

Am I even half serious about this? Maybe tomorrow, after a decent night of sleep this evening, I'll have a better grasp on such an endeavor. It's not like I'd be giving up the entire internet, HAHAHAH! Just texting. Checking weather. Gathering various informational data points. Counting my steps. Taking photographs on the fly.

What would you do about music, Past Me asks, a trickle of horror in her voice.

That and reading your books, hmmmm? Future Me did clear her throat before she spoke, then she adds: Not that I want to discourage you, but....

But she's nuts! Past Me barks, thrusting her hands on her hips. You won't last half a day and....

I'm gonna try it Sunday, I retort, sneaking a glance at Future Me, who wears an impassive gaze.

Well, you go right ahead, Past Me grumbles. The girls are gonna think you're both crazy.

Past Me is referring to my, or our, daughters. Who tolerate their father's Phone Free Sundays because I don't follow that edict. Yet, I proffer, in a soft voice, if I don't try, I'll certainly never know.

So true, Future Me concurs. Look at Cami Chicken.

Cami who, Past Me asks.

Nothing, I smirk, rolling my eyes at Future Me.

Who then smirks at me, then glares at Past Me. If she wants to give up HER PHONE, Future Me huffs, that's HER BUSINESS.

Past Me crosses her arms over her chest. Well good luck with that, she blurts, then stalks off, still guarding her chest, but now also shaking her head.

I listen to her mumbles, and am grateful she doesn't mutter chickens. Then I stare at Future Me, again with that impassive countenance. I don't ask if she uses a phone, because 1) I don't want to know, and 2) At this current juncture she wouldn't tell me anyway. Instead I clear my throat, then smile. Thanks for the support, I say.

Sure, she smiles. Then she chortles.

What, I ask, half expecting her to grill me about actually giving up my phone.

I wonder if when she gets chickens if she'll remember this.

I smile, then giggle. Well, I certainly don't recall any such conflab in spring.

Future Me nods. That's good.

I nod, but feel a little unsettled. Sure, good, yeah.

It is, she says softly.

Now I'm starting to feel...not frightened, but curious. Are these interludes with my future and past selves something I will forget? I truly appreciate the wisdom, then I shiver, for my sense last night of helplessness, fear, as though on a black shifting highway leading to....

Leave that, you're safe now, Future Me says boldly.

Uh, okay.

She approaches, then gently caresses my shoulder. You're no chicken, she whispers, then breaks into a brief chuckle.

I smile, can't help it, as she releases me, then walks in the opposite direction of Past Me. A sign of things to come, I want to ask, but today's been full of unexpected revelations.