The usual Friday lunch and afternoon with Nate was valuable. Discussed some small concerns with our use of time at Community Group. The broader focus was really listening to Nate, with all my senses. Took a while for everything to click, but then dawned on me that I'd oversimplified the complexity of his heart— it is concerned not just with one Heather, but with two. He was surprised by my observation (though I think he grows less surprised as he gets to know me better) and seemed freed simply by hearing it out loud. Hope, perhaps?
Around the apartment, I've been engaged in an unexpected flurry of repairs. Computers have decided to rebel; they have a way of doing so all at once. My futon palette also demanded some attention. It ought to be satisfied that I sleep with it every night, I'm thinking.
Now enjoying the feel of the cool night air slipping through my cracked-open window and playing along the back of my neck. Nate mentioned a feeling that came when he smelled the night air earlier this week, a sense of nostalgia tinged with hope. He wished he could hang onto it. Understanding, I savor it now. Hope again. Relentless.