Roots & Sky by Christie Purifoy
While others were dipping their toes in the lake, slicing watermelon, possibly preparing for a big barbecue; we have been living the most magical of days.
They were not born from the ordinary, but birthed in the breathtaking hard. The hard stretching our lives beyond comfortable familiar places. Stretching makes room for a holy God to fill our space. Move our days in a slow tempo as if we are dancing to a breezy romantic tune playing softly around us a sacred dance.
The rhythm is teaching me to listen; a common thread weaving in and out of my quiet time. The words scrawled across my journal tell me the same.
He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams.
He restores my soul. ~Psalm 23. 2~3a (a mix of NLT & ESV)
God has given us green meadows in the wilderness place. My man is restored a bit more each day. I rest and keep vigil over him with a keen eye.
The noises and distractions of the world and real life held back, it is peaceful here. Summer’s crescendo strives to her peak. We have slowed and taken notice, flourishing in a softer place.
This has not been our typical summer, spent with family and fourth of July parades. Surrounded by small town flavor, mountain air, banjos and old friends.
Moses spent forty days on Mount Sinai in the presence of God, I wonder if he really wanted to leave. To trudge back down the mountain and find God’s people worshiping a golden calf. (Exodus 24 & 32). How hard it must have been to leave perfection and walk up on that scene.
I speculate, Moses like me, may have wanted to stay on the mountain where he was close to God.
I am prone to stay here, yet we ventured out. It was for us a slice of everyday ordinary life after the thing that has been shaping and molding us in the Potter’s hands.
A slow walk through the farmer’s market. Fresh cut sunflowers, exotic wares, and heirloom tomatoes. Fresh morning air.
From there to the local coffee shop adjacent to our independent bookstore.
Sipping on a white chocolate frappe, spreading out my journal, scratching words onto the page.
My man walking the downtown square.
Hanging baskets spill over with all manor of bright blooms shading the streets.
I roamed the isles of the bookstore in search of treasure, my search paying off. Two books by one of my favorite fiction writers. One new and one used.
It has taken me days to write these words. The weight of this sacred time warm and heavy in my hand. When asked how we are doing, to say “okay” does not seem quite enough. To find okay in the midst of this seems out of reach. And maybe it is. To find His presence filling our space is the gift. We are indeed better than okay.
We will lay up this season as treasures in our hearts.
Gifts of Grace