Dear God

Dear God,

Rain hangs in the air. It isn't here yet, but it is so close I can smell it.

Rain.

Rain reminds me of being a child. Playing outside, feeling the breeze become wind, watching the gray clouds approaching.

Rain.

Even before I knew You, I knew You were there. The rain. It announced Your existence.  It still shouts Your name.

Momma would let us play in the rain if it wasn't storming. When lightening warned and thunder rolled, she called us in. We could play near the screen door. The brisk wind drove tiny droplets of water in and misted us.

Just as I listened to my momma's warning about the coming storm, I want to listen to You. I'm so sorry--I often run ahead of You. Sometimes I lag behind. When I don't like what's going on in life, I stand still.

God? These past few weeks … I know I've been standing still. Even as You bless me more than I could ever deserve. I have stood still.

My desire is to be in step with You. Every step of every day.

Wrap me in Your love. Take my heart and fill it up with You. Fill me up with so much You there is no room for self.

Rain.

It's nature's comfort food. And I love it. I enjoy the childlike wonder it brings.

I love that is reminds me of my momma.

I love that it shouts Your name.

Blessings and More Blessings

The assaulting sound of a blaring alarm broke through the quiet. She awoke with a jerk but remained still. She looked around at the comforts surrounding her. Ruffled curtains that matched the bedspread, a warm robe to softly wrap herself up in, and the perfume in the air of fresh coffee as her automatic maker was set to begin brewing just minutes before the alarm sounded. 

   The kids were already awake, settled in front of the television. "Turn it down! And move back, you're way too close to the TV. You're going to ruin your eyes, ya know!"

   She stopped at the large window at the breakfast nook and gazed out at the artistry of spring. Bright yellow daffodils lined the drive, the grass was a brilliant green, and the sound of birds announcing God's glory seemed to take up every inch of sunshine.

   Gazing at her home -- her perfect, southern-living home-- filled her mind with countless reasons to say thank you. God had been so good. Having been loved as a little girl should be loved carved a trail in her heart. She knew how to love. Looking over her shoulder at the kids intently watching cartoons, she felt rich, so very rich.

    Today would be filled with video games and hair bows, dandelion chains and driveway basketball. The sound of little hands touching black and white keys will fill the house with the elementary sounds of workbook three.

   She reached for her favorite coffee cup, delicately adorned by pansies and miniature roses. The sight of her hand startled her. She placed the cup near the coffee pot and touched her wedding band. She closed her eyes and turned the band around and around.

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever! Psalm 107:1

The Hands of Home

          The wind was brisk as she hurried to the shed. Her boots crunched in the snow and her toes screamed in protest to the missing lining. She wrapped her thin scarf around her face, covering her nose. Maybe this would keep the sub-zero temperature from burning in her throat and nostrils. 
          

          Rushing around the corner, the shed shielded her from the angry gust that seemed to utter "not to worry, I will be here when you return!"

       
          She grasped the handle and pulled as if her life depended on getting that old door to relent. Perhaps her life did depend on it. Hers and her sweet, young children waiting in the rented house a few yards away. They would wake soon.
          
          She stood still for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The shed smelled of old grass and gasoline. It smelled like love to her. She inhaled and sensed the arms of her daddy holding her close.
         
          The wind whistled her back to reality. She reached down and began piling wood in her outstretched arm. Soon she would have a happy, cozy fire singing as it snapped and danced a show of white, yellow, and orange flames. Just the thought warmed her soul.
       
          She took one more deep breath of comfort before heading toward the house. Glancing east she was overwhelmed by the wonder of the sun, peaking up over the horizon like a gigantic, beautifully shy flower. Only God could create such splendor in the dead of winter.
       
          The light above the door beckoned her to hurry, promising the refuge of home. She knew it was borrowed along with almost everything inside. Yet it was truly home. The screen door softly whispered the message of spring, assuring one day fragrant breezes would blow through its tiny, square windows.
   
            Moments later a fire sent its invisible arms rolling outward like an octopus reaching for company. She poured oatmeal into boiling water. Soon her children would be warmed inside and out.
   
           She heard the shuffling of little slippered feet moving down the hall. She turned to see sweet faces wrapped in hair askew, little pink cheeks wearing good morning smiles  and eyes that sparkled with the happiness of a new day. 
            
          "Good morning, Sunshine!" Momma smiled.
         
           This is home. Little ones gathered, snuggled up to the fire and bathed in its warmth while the aroma of oatmeal, cinnamon, and coffee filled the air. Home is right here, wrapped in a blanket framed in tattered satin trim.
       
           "It's shivery," squeaked the younger.
     
           "Is shivery a word?" asked the older as she held mommas hand and played with her ring, turning it around and around.
   
            Momma's voice laughed, "Yes, shivery is a word."
 
            "Well, your hands are warmery!" giggled the older, "and they are the prettiest hands ever in the whole wide world!" Using her own chubby little hand, she traced mommas fingers, "Someday, I hope my hands look just like yours!"
   
             With growling tummies the girls reached for their bowls, now full of steaming hot home. 

    

             Today will be filled with Golden books, homemade paste, a shared pair of scissors and catalogues that have arrived in the mail. There will be songs of the Muffin Man and tea pots followed by games of pat-a- cake and eye spy.

     

         This is the beginning of a story of fiction, sprinkled with truth from my childhood. And I am happy to say, there are many days my hands look just like hers.

Above all, put on love--the perfect bond of unity. Colossians 3:14

America

I voted yesterday.

And as I found my parking spot, I drove past lots and lots of people holding signs and waving.

America.

I walked right in. Showed my ID and signed my name.

America.

I voted.

America.

No one tried to stop me.

America.

No one threatened me.

America.

I drove away and gave thumbs up to 2 young people. They held signs and waved.

America.

Some I voted for won, some did not.

But I voted and I'm glad.

I live in a free country. Lives were lost and lives changed forever to give me the right to cast my vote.

America.

Will the people who won keep their promises? I don't know.

Will anything change because I voted? I don't know.

But I voted.

And I will again.

And I will praise God for America.

America.