The breeze brushes my face, wispy fingers cooling my questions.
It’s funny what conquers the ragged places. You think it will take something big–like getting the answers you want–but sometimes it’s the simplest relief.
Like this light wind whisking away the heat as we sit beneath the shade trees of our backyard .
It doesn’t answer the questions I asked last night. It doesn’t change the circumstances of frustration.
But it is LOVE.
And isn’t this life full of Him when I open my heart to see?
Conviction hits with that statement. It’s not always about my ability to open my heart. Last night’s questions weren’t coming from this happy, open place.
The breeze, this quiet moment away from the sweltering heat of my home and the suffocating heat of my heart is a gift. I didn’t earn it by being some goody-goody person living open and happy.
I have cultivated the notice of such by an intentional decision to say thank you. I did ask God last night for help when I felt the doldrums coming on. But I didn’t make the breeze. I didn’t force my heart open.
I think only God can open the heart. My will can ask Him to. My logic knows it is good for me. But the heart? That’s something different all together.
The heart is where HE lives. And He is hope. Joy. Peace. Love. All the things I long for. He opens this place to the Good.
When I cried out in the sweaty night, hot and tired, unable to sleep, He granted my body rest and awoke me to this day. This moment.
I’ve no doubt that His Spirit tempted me outside. It started with notice of wilting basil leaves, so thirsty. Then the act of running up and down the stairs, back porch to plant watering jug in hand, awakened me to the possibilities.
Sam’s hot and tired, too. Maybe even more than I with all of his aching surgery hip and sitting in front of TV and gaming station, being tied to crutches, mostly trapped inside.
So we breakfasted in the breeze. Talked of everything and nothing. How this summer was his favorite summer of baseball ever. He thanked me for his childhood, precious son that he is, as we stared at the swing set which sits mostly still these days. I guess kids reminisce, too. Even as I silently mourned the decaying tree house, the lack of shrieking, giggling little ones, he celebrates the good, sees the big yard and the tire swing and dangling climbing rope and remembers. Happy. (And yes, I hear the lesson in that.)
Now we sit side-by-side, lap-tops perched on the patio table that speaks love, too (It once belonged to Bernice, and I know she would rejoice in seeing us here). We let the fresh air clear our head, cool our bodies, lift our spirits.
A pure, white butterfly flits by. Lands on the rose bush.
Bird song wafts on the breeze.
We believe again in season, in ups and downs, and how the downs don’t last forever. His crutches will soon be abandoned. The stuff that weighed on my emotions last night will pass. We remember that even in those downs there is relief. We discover gifts. Embrace love.
I am happy, too. Son beside me. Cool breeze refreshing.
Hope you’re finding joy in the simple pleasures, too, my friends.
Until next time,
Tagged: empty nest, God, hope, joy, motherhood, Paula Moldenhauer, peace, refreshment, simple pleasures, simple things, simple things that make life better
“but sometimes it’s the simplest relief” – you have a skill for capturing a detail – and then allowing me to share your journey. This is such a beautiful morning fellowship. Thank you!
Thanks, Paul. It was such a wonderful morning. God blessed me “real good” as we used to say when I lived down south . . .
What a lovely post. I cannot help but be overtaken and stilled by the peace and beauty of the outdoors. And what a pure joy to share sweet moments with your son. I am refreshed and happy with you.
Thanks, Rebekah. Wish you a beautiful day and week!
Small things of beauty. Hold on to them.
Yes, my friend. We do this together.