“There’s a bit of every season in each season.” Annie Dillard~Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
It began last week. Lightening cutting across dark sky. Thunder rumbled, jarring my soul. Lola headed for cover.
A mighty wind blew out the storm. Clouds, dark and heavy lay close to the ground, left behind. Cooler weather blew in with the wind. And rain. More rain.
Minuscule waterfalls ran over buckets of yellow. I watched as they drooped. I worried the fragility of the blooms. Worried would they survive? Kicked myself a hundred imaginary times for not bringing them to cover.
I sat at my desk studying the book of Acts. Dorcas also known as Tabitha, a woman who discipled others and served many. Lovingly sewing clothing for those in need. A woman loved by her community. The faith they had to send for Peter as she lay dead in an upper room. Body washed, not yet prepared for burial.
What were they thinking? The physical will be decaying and stinking soon. They held out for something. Something, they yet had knowledge of. A miracle.
I stared out the window through the glass, through the rain, watched the birds sing. They sang with gusto at the same time filling their beaks with seed.
I envied them. Singing in the rain, filling their tummies in the cold. I loathe the cold. The rain.
My feet tucked in mis~matched socks, warming purple toes. A gray sweater, thin with wear, coffee stains dribbled down the front, smells of breakfast and home, wraps tightly ’round my shoulders.
My thoughts wonder back to Dorcas, eyes searching the page. Peter arrives and they quickly lead him to the room where their beloved friend lay unmoving and without breath.
The room was filled with widows who were weeping and showing him the coats and other clothes Dorcas had made for them. But Peter asked them all to leave the room; then he knelt and prayed. Turning to the body he said, “Get up, Tabitha.” And she opened her eyes! Acts 9:39b~40 NLT
El~Shaddi, The God in whom nothing is impossible.
The God, who warms me in the cold. The God, who shows me birds sing in the rain. The God, who walks with me through The Wilderness Marathon.
I can feel His invisible touch on my elbow whilst I stumble slowly, painfully through.
What in the world am I thinking when my faith in all of this shifts to the place of what ifs and unanswered questions?
Can I have faith, in the wait, as the believers in Joppa? I want it. Want it so bad. Some days I am able to grab and hold it, other days, my heart lays open, allowing it drip out.
I weather the storms, the cold, the rain, the birds continue with their song.
Monday comes and with it the sun. I step into it catching the grace. Sun warms bare arms, glistens through left over raindrops on green leaves.
“Experiencing the present purely is being emptied and hollow; you catch grace as a man fills his cup under a waterfall.” Annie Dillard~Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Empty and hollow I wait to be filled. I tend the bucket of blooms days ago I worried over. Folded into themselves five new blooms lay ready to stretch towards sunlight. My empty bucket is filled as I drain off excess water. Turn them towards the light.
I am filled with hope and warmth, promise of new life. Filled with thoughts of El~Shaddi. The God in whom nothing is impossible. The God who brings life to the dead. A God who places exclamation points in hard places.
“There are few live seasons. Let us live them as purely as we can, in the present.” Annie Dillard~Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
These things I worry with may or may not be out there in the future. I leave them there, choosing once again to live in the present where Grace abounds. As purely as I can.
Gifts of Grace
other places I write…