Postcard from a Runaway Life.

So, yeah -- clearly it's been a while since I blogged. All I can say is eighteen credits of English is taking its toll. I can't say I wasn't warned. C'est la vie.

Just because I've been blogsilent, though, doesn't mean I've been blogabsent. Our virtual baby shower for little miss Talia Grace has been delightful and charming, and I've been wracking my brain trying to come up with a suitable offering of my own. This dilemma is, of course, complicated by the fact that Blogspot doesn't seem to like uploading pictures from a Mac. As usual, insistence on something better than the status quo has its drawbacks (insert wry smile here).

Yesterday, I rearranged my room and discovered I have space for one more of the little black shelves I use (and table touchlamps). This is a blessing, since I display my Everyman's Library collection on them, and stock is beginning to outstrip capacity. So I took off for Target, home of the wrought-aluminum shelf and cracked-glass touchlamp, planning to drop thirty-odd bucks in the interest of aesthetic harmony.

I don't care for the new Roseville SuperTarget. I'm thrilled it's finally open, but I miss the old Store One. I could've made a beeline for the exact spot on those old, friendly shelves where they had what I wanted. Instead, I wandered around for half an hour, trying to make sense of the new layout amid the distraction of droves of people comparing tinsel styles while surrepetitiously humming "Jingle Bells."

Jingle Bells? On November 19? For this, I was woefully unprepared. I expected turkeys and horns-of-plenty, not reindeer-shaped fireplace tools and red foil bags of roasted chestnuts. Maybe even a corner of the store that featured nearly-bare shelves of candy corn and flame-retardant superhero capes. What happened?

I was lost. I couldn't find anything I was looking for, and maybe they no longer carry the stuff. I passed an aisle of wrapping paper and heard a disembodied baritone "fa-la-la-la-la"ing, and the next thing I knew I was striding through the parking lot, making a beeline for my car.

I think the gifts we choose say as much about the giver as the recipient. Maybe I'm just a narcissist in denial, but even with the people whose passions I can't understand, I look for gifts that speak to something we share, gifts that I can get excited about, too, gifts that might deepen the connection between us.

So Talia, my dear, if it were in my power, I would give you time. Time to wear pajamas with feet as long as possible. Time to be silly and messy. Time to remember well, to toss dry leaves at your brother and sister before you even think about making a Christmas list. Time to laugh at how crazy adults are. Time to notice how lucky you got in the Great Parental Lottery. Time to dive headfirst into worship and not worry about what's for lunch. Time to delight in all the gratuitous gifts of God.

And if my desire - my prayer for you - should be answered, I'm not ashamed to hope that God spreads it around a little.