My kids fell asleep in the car on the way home, snuggled in their pj's. When we arrived, I woke them up and herded them to the house, my daughter stumbling into things and my son whimpering. I zipped them out of coats, slid them out of sneakers, and tucked them into bed in under 2 minutes.
It was when I put my daughter's hand-crocheted afghan (thank-you, BJ!) around her that it happened. She snuggled on her side, rounded her back, and sighed the contented sigh that only the really tired and really young can make. I thought, "This is one of my favorite things." And it is. I love watching my sleeping babies, snuggled in their specially-made afghans from great-grandma and great friends, knowing they are happy and safe and at peace.
Shaggy dogs, whole bodies wagging in ecstasy as we come through the door. (Not to say I don't sputter and nudge and exclaim, "For goodness's sake . . .let us in the door!" but I love them just the same.)
Sunshine. Any sunshine. Winter sunshine, the blinding glare off the snow making you forget it's below freezing. Spring sunshine, heating up the house as it streams through my storm door. Summer sunshine, warming my pool and the ocean so we can actually enjoy swimming in them. Autumn sunshine breaking through storm clouds, scattering double rainbows around the house.
My children playing together. Laughing. Making up stories about Sharptooth and Woody and Sharky and Snappy. Sharing. (Yes, it does happen that way. Sometimes. Rarely. For a moment. And that moment is delicious!)
My sister. Anytime. All the time. Happy, sad, frazzled, jubilant, bored, busy . . . whatever moods we are in, it's good to be together. I, at any rate, am always better for having been with or talked to her.
My whole family. They're all crazy. I'm crazy. We often drive each other crazy. And for some unfathomable reason I am crazy about them and wouldn't want to be without any of them.
Weed-free perennial gardens. This is one thing I like about spring. You can do a hard weeding once a week and keep the gardens looking pretty sharp. Come summer, that's a whole different ball game. I can't keep up with weeds for love or money then. Of course, I have neither love nor money, so maybe this year I'll have a chance!
Heptacodium miconioides. I have to thank my ex for that. (I can call him that, right? It's time.) He planted two of these elegant trees--one in the front yard and one in the back--and they have become one of my favorite plants. They are gorgeous all year long. White, peely bark in the winter, tiered green foliage in the spring, white flowers in the summer, and red "fruits" in the fall. Truly the perfect tree. Picture a tree nymph. That's them.
Published articles. Okay, guilty pleasure, but I'm nothing if not honest!
And that leads me to you, my blog readers. You come from ten different countries (so far!) and a good number of you visit Storm Songs regularly. I know you are all busy with your own lives, and the fact that you make me a part of them is very humbling. So thank you! You are a gift.
Yes. Sunshine. One of the foundational passages of hope I cling to in the midst of raging storm is David's last prophetic words, which indicate the palpable, earthy, coming Kingdom that the Psalmists and Prophets point to:
ReplyDelete“The Spirit of the LORD speaks by me;
his word is on my tongue.
The God of Israel has spoken;
the Rock of Israel has said to me:
When one rules justly over men, ruling in the fear of God,
he dawns on them like the morning light,
like the sun shining forth on a cloudless morning,
like rain that makes grass to sprout from the earth.”
The Western Washington sun, which suddenly breaks through the clouds and suffuses the dripping globes of water on the trees with shimmering iridescence, always brings this passage to mind with quieting assurance. Such moments are eternity overflowing into time.
The storms in our lives clear the air of chaff and dust, so that He radiates His goodness into our lives without obstruction, fulfilling our deepest desires, which have always resided in Him, for “all things are from Him, through Him, to Him.”
Your desires reflect what is truly beautiful. One sees that your tears, clinging to you as the watery globes cling to the abies douglasi, shimmer as brightly as those iridescent globes, because of the love, hope, and faith which are in you. And just as the blustry wind is the means by which the fir, hemlock, and cedar whisper His love at my most desperate moments--so the winds of your affliction, which cause you to sigh with longing hope, also assure me of His goodness and love.