Sometimes a picture says it all. No words needed. Grateful for the gifts of summer.
Enjoy the season!
Until Next Time,
A gentle breeze, cool and fragrant, teases my hair, and I straighten. Pause.
Those blossoms smell how I imagine heaven. I let the scent, the stirring of air, refresh my body and my soul.
Did He stir the branches?
Send the breeze, the fragrance?
Or it is just how the Creator planned it out years ago. Scientific.
Maybe God is big enough to have planned out my encounters with nature even before I was born. Maybe when He set his plans in motion, spoke the seed for this beautiful tree into existence, He had me in mind even then.
Doesn’t the first chapter of Ephesians support this way of thinking? This God who plans with me in mind?
I choose to believe this moment is personal. He SEES ME. Wants to bless me. To cover my aching, weary body and soul with His perfume.
I’m reading Ann VosKamp again. She quotes Erasmus, a contemporary of Luther, “A nail is driven out by another nail; habit is overcome by habit.”
She admits the struggle for gratitude. Like her, my writing of over 1,000 thanks sometimes felt juvenile. I didn’t know then I was driving out a nail by another nail. That I was practicing what it is like to live a life of moments embraced and noticed with thanksgiving before they march on, lost in time, pushing me to hurry without living.
That noticing the little things and giving thanks to the One teaches me to live with Him. Notice Him. Trust Him. Slow down and embrace Him as I delight in His gifts.
i still practice. Choosing to hammer gratitude. Trust. Faith. For my soul. My mental and spiritual health.
And for my body I hammer healthier choices. Salad. Walks. Water.
Sometimes I awake fearful again. And which nail do I pick up? I want to practice trust. To drive out unbelief with faith. To grow as one who walks in peace with the Father. Believing He is personal. He sees. Me.
Sometimes, like the last six weeks or so, I curl in a ball instead of walking. Gaining a few pounds from not choosing the nail of activity.
And maybe that was ok, this drawing into myself to grieve. This wintering.
As long as I come out.
And there’s nothing like spring to draw me from winter, tempting me with fragrant breezes.
Reminding me that He sees.
He sees me.
Life’s simple pleasures come in the ordinary, especially when someone is intentional about eking extra good out of what’s in front of them. (After my sniffling momma post on Wednesday, I’m thinking I need to embrace the joys of the good days, not just wallow in “those” days.)
Extraordinary happened for me the end of July when Sam played a double-header. Jerry didn’t have to work until later in the day and got to come to the first game.
While the boys warmed up, he took my hand and led me on an adventure.
The games were played at Chatfield High, which is in the greater SW Denver area, close to the foothills. Just a few steps behind the school lay a golf course, tennis courts, and a soccer field. But best of all was an untamed area, wilder than my treks through the neighborhood with foliage more desert plain than what I’d enjoyed in the mountains.
It sung its own song, and despite prickly flowers and dry earth, we found much beauty (and a tennis ball and two golf balls, but that’s another story.)
As usual, I was especially drawn to the yellows,
pinks, and purples.
But even the dry browns held a unique artistry.
Our walk was brief, but the long, repeated flights of stairs back to the ball field made me feel I’d earned my lunch.
Working movement into our day was only part of the importance of this snapshot of living. It was really about grabbing hold of a little bit of life, a fleeting moment that could just as easily have been lost as I sat bored, waiting for the next game to start.
Instead my hubby invited me on a mini-date. We admired God’s creation. We held hands. We were together. We saw something new.