The same rain fell on both fields, side by side, only a narrow gravel road separating them. The same wind blew. My limited logic would have thought the riper field, brittle and golden with harvest so near, would have been more vulnerable and susceptible to the lodging (flattening) from the combined forces of the storm . . yet it was the greener portions that suffered the most.
“Too much nitrogen”, my husband, the Former Farmer, casually commented. A part of me didn’t want to know. Sometimes I hate knowing how things really work, knowing the why. Yet ignorance isn’t always poetic. It’s ignorant.
I stood basking in the joy of worship a Sunday ago, expecting nothing, only wanting to give, to praise, to love . . and it was if He spoke. “There is only Here. There is only Now.” I’ve known forever the importance of living in the present, yet have seldom settled my skirts into a circle to do exactly that. There is always before, there is always the worry of tomorrow. But, as always, He is right. His words return often when I’m tempted to take up again the mantle of fear and Despair, and calm prevails. A gift.
I know the passages, many by heart. Yet to see them reframed slightly has made them blossom with rich new meaning. I swallow them whole, seasoned with a love that has, for years, been so terribly absent. Or false.
Little by little, gently and with exquisite wisdom, He continues to heal and restore that which shouldn’t have needed restoring. But there is, in this beautiful time of surgery, deeper wounds, very very old wounds, being attended and mended. My gratitude falls so short of what He is giving.
Why now? I don’t want to question, half afraid of the fragility of this new landscape. Yet again I am reminded, day by day, moment by moment. As the manna was enough for only one day, so His grace is sufficient. So each new day is Today. Only Now.
I am crying often again. But not in a hopeless sort of sorrow. These are tears of indescribable gratefulness.
“Too much nitrogen”, my husband, the Former Farmer, casually commented. A part of me didn’t want to know. Sometimes I hate knowing how things really work, knowing the why. Yet ignorance isn’t always poetic. It’s ignorant.
I stood basking in the joy of worship a Sunday ago, expecting nothing, only wanting to give, to praise, to love . . and it was if He spoke. “There is only Here. There is only Now.” I’ve known forever the importance of living in the present, yet have seldom settled my skirts into a circle to do exactly that. There is always before, there is always the worry of tomorrow. But, as always, He is right. His words return often when I’m tempted to take up again the mantle of fear and Despair, and calm prevails. A gift.
I know the passages, many by heart. Yet to see them reframed slightly has made them blossom with rich new meaning. I swallow them whole, seasoned with a love that has, for years, been so terribly absent. Or false.
Little by little, gently and with exquisite wisdom, He continues to heal and restore that which shouldn’t have needed restoring. But there is, in this beautiful time of surgery, deeper wounds, very very old wounds, being attended and mended. My gratitude falls so short of what He is giving.
Why now? I don’t want to question, half afraid of the fragility of this new landscape. Yet again I am reminded, day by day, moment by moment. As the manna was enough for only one day, so His grace is sufficient. So each new day is Today. Only Now.
I am crying often again. But not in a hopeless sort of sorrow. These are tears of indescribable gratefulness.
