My morning begins by watching children race down the street so the speed limit monitor sign records their speed. I still haven’t had enough coffee to move properly, and these kids are racing. They know how to walk to school with flair. I secretly want to record my own speed. I still might, but I’m too busy trying to contain the activity.
Then, I volunteer in the kindergarten classroom. The teacher puts me in charge of the Turkey Masks for the feast the class will have next week. I’m the monitor, and I can’t contain this project; the children smear glue everywhere, and feathers are in their hair, on their shirts, and attached to their jeans.
Eventually, we produce these fine specimens.
Apparently, this makes the feast more fun and uncontrollable.
Meanwhile, I monitor the purple glue sticks and question how in the world they go on purple but dry clear. The chemistry behind this phenomenon has me stumped.
Something dries out, and the purple disappears. Who invented this great item? Maybe the same person who, as a kid, would have raced towards the speed limit monitor sign.
Lord, let me monitor my own joy today. Let me race down streets, wear turkey masks even when I can’t see a thing, and stay vibrant purple. Let me not be contained. Let me have turkey feathers even on my jeans.
I’m on my way to run in front of the speed monitor.