Monday, November 29, 2010

A Little Dirt Never Killed Anybody

I'm sore. And my boots are caked with mud. As are my jeans, and that sweatshirt I have come to absolutely adore.

To be clear, I'm not complaining. I'm thrilled about this.

But there's this raw crick in my shoulder muscle that burns a little when I shrug my shoulders. When I walk up stairs, I move a little like a cowboy and slowly saunter my way to the next level.

I'm feeling the full effect of a family weekend. A weekend filled with things to be grateful for.


But the soreness is from yesterday's family football game on a muddy field.

I'm grateful for our large family. There is this unique sort of safety in the whole beautiful mess.

We cheer. Young spirits soar on the encouragement. You can almost see the young man growing.

Give a helping hand when mud runs slick under no-tread boots. Run, chase, catch, clap until the sun gives a final nod and drops behind the hillside; until the cloud cover becomes nearly night cover and it's time to go indoors.

There's something about connecting with family and friends, while getting rosy cheeks and covered in dirt. It becomes more than a game. More than just a brown ball tossed around a forgotten field.

It's forging something. Something invisible. Something that puts brick on brick, arm in arm.

I told my sister, "Family creates something safe. You can't get away with much within these walls."

Nope. Not much at all.

Except for maybe that touchdown. That seems to break through those invisible walls in the best way possible.

1 comment:

  1. That was such a fun day! Your stats: 8 catches for 2 yards (total), 1 touchdown??