On Saturday, I woke to the sound of a friendly rain. I love to wake on a silver morning with a gentle rain falling, especially, if I have no further obligation, than to listen to the watery song. I always think of my friend Rae, when it rains, for she is every bit as fond of a rainy day, as I am. Rain gives us permission to cancel things like yard work and other bothersome tasks.
There was a powdery mist over the laughing river today. The water looked milky and I had not seen it look that way before. It felt like a discovery of something beautiful, that was new to me. I always like seeing a new kind of beauty . . as much a I like a familiar thing of beauty, too.
All day, the air was wet in some form or fashion. After the early morning showers, mist followed, then it would “sprinkle” and finally it would rain again. Lyla had her heart set on a picnic and the front porch just would not do on this day. She wanted a “real” picnic in the grass. Will tried to convince her that the grass and yard were soggy, but Lyla did not take it well. Jenny resorted to calling Santa Clause. Apparently there is number to hear a recording when such an occasion arises. Lyla stated her full name and told him “just don’t come . I don”t want to be good !”
It would do us all good to remember that Lyla is but three years old. Three year olds do not “put on airs”. They act upon their feelings quite honestly. The “high road” does not often appeal to three year olds . . .it does not always appeal to me either . . .at first sight. . .but rest assured, we will all do our best to lead Lyla to the “high road”, until it becomes a habit, hopefully.
We ended the day with a good supper, while the rain was still falling.
I was late for the early service this Sunday morning. The sun was shining brightly and cardinals were flying, by the time I went out. As often happens, a verse popped in my head. It first came to me while we were on our holiday. It came up again as I greeted the day, when the sun was a blazing lemon drop. It is a favorite of mine from Corinthians . . “For we walk by faith, not by sight.” The verse stayed with me through breakfast and echoes now no matter what task is at hand.
This has happened to me countless times. Verses will come to me and it always turns out, some event arises, that demands some action. The verses ring true and supply exactly what is required to proceed. Of course, being away from the sea, I have become human again, after all and with that, a looming sense of curiosity of the path before me. It is time to return my focus to the rabbit patch, still in need of a few small repairs, and mean while the summer slips by stealthily much like a “thief in the night”. One thing, and maybe one of the few things, I am certain of , is that a “new season is on the horizon”. How far off, I can not tell. We can never know all of the details of life. That would not require an ounce of trust and how would our faith increase under such circumstances? If all the answers were laid before us, what profit would that be? If we could prepare accordingly to whatever may come up, then we would never need to rely on God, which would be dreadful, in the long run. We would miss out altogether on what may very well, be the intent of our earthly journey. It seems whether or not we admit it, that we must all “Walk by faith and not be sight.”
Not being an expert or a “master” of religion, I can only, say these are some of my thoughts, as of lately. . . and I am not through thinking just yet, nor will I ever be in this lifetime.
Lyla and I made strawberry brownies in the late morning. We listened to the “Brandenburg concertos” as she mixed the chocolate batter and I sliced the strawberries. Somewhere along the way, Lyla wanted to call Santa, for she’d had a change of heart .
The afternoon stole lazily away. A stray shower sprung up ever so often followed by a hot, bright sunshine. I talked to Kyle and Christian, who assured me that all was well at the rabbit patch. My sons have not starved, as I always fear they will, when I am away. At long last, the roof is finally and completely finished. Cash, my boxer and Christopher Robin, my cat are fine. I am sure by now, that Christopher Robin is holding a grudge. He does not know that I saw a shell, on the shore, in soft shades of gray, and missed him, sorely.
In the evening I sat outside. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the passing clouds seemed in a hurry. A cool breeze was blowing and it felt like September. I remembered my grandmother, for it was the anniversary of her death. Grandmama died young, at the age of 52. It has been 49 years since her passing. I was ten years old, yet I remember her voice, even now. She died one night suddenly and the shock of it remains to this day. Christian asked me once, if I still missed her and I cried, for I have never quit missing her. In ten years, she made an impression on me, that has lasted. No one is ever going to talk about any “business” deal for 49 years nor are we likely to mourn the loss of any possession, no matter how extravagant, for a half century . . .but love, never leaves us, and I am convinced it must become a part of us, maybe in a physical sense.
I sat there, with the wind blowing thinking, we ought to never under estimate the power of our contribution to this world. . . and we are all contributing. Maybe we do not realize that the mark we leave will ever matter. I am certain my grandmother had no idea that I would remember my life with her on the little farm, years ago. . .but I do. . .and the memories occupy me and implore me to love as she did. Grandmama left me “well off” . . .and that has made a difference.