Friday, April 30, 2010

Stormy weather . . .

(image not my own)
Early morning.
The coffee brews. I hear it dripping. Smell the earthy tones in it drifting my way.
I inhale slowly, a long breath that makes me close my eyes, lift my head, let out a sigh.
That first sip of coffee is like a kiss.
I look out the window at a storm brewing outside.
The sky is so dark. Layers of gray. The clouds could be mistaken for mountains rising from ancient mists. Olympus floating by.
Wind gusts. The trees dance . . .not a waltz, but a furious dance. Their new green leaves tremble.
Grass bows low, waving to the whimsy of the wind.
I do not know what will happen today. Or tomorrow.
I cannot guess what the future holds.
There is no planning now. No agenda. No place to be.
Just here. Sitting. Sipping coffee. Snuggling with my small waking son.
I watch the storm come.
But there is a peace that passes knowing it is out there.

I have been thinking a lot, lately, about my life.
About what is good in it.
It is a long list. One I will write down one day. . . soon.
Those good things, those blessings and magical moments, those Divine encounters . . . they are what anchor me.
They enable me to watch the storm with quiet eyes and calm heart.
They help me remember there are things bigger, longer-lasting than storms.
And so, playing in grandpa's backyard with the boys in the late afternoon sun yesterday, sitting on the porch and talking with grandpa, coming together around the table for our weekly family dinner, watching Daniel and his dad bond on a John Deere against a pinking sun-set, spying young strawberries waiting to ripe-- life in my neglected garden, finding a dewy-eyed Peter Rabbit near our blackberry bushes, listening to our boys prayers before they climbed into their beds . . . those things are what I am thinking of this morning as I watch through my window the dark skies gather outside and the grasses supplicate to a wild wind.
I draw Daniel close. I hear Joe working on things in the other room. I think of my boys at school across town.
I remember that He holds all things in His hands.
I take another sip.

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