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Green, Green Leaves of Grace

I awake again with a burdened heart, a sad heart. My daughter’s mastectomy broke me, the weight sitting on me like an elephant, taking my breath. Mornings on the porch restored my breath, albeit shallow, yet sustaining, consoling. The next bout in this healing process is now here – chemo.
 
I go once again, from my bed, to my porch.
 
I breathe in the morning breeze and feel the warmth of sunshine on my skin. I have a spirit to know it.
 
Orioles sing. Dogs bark on a farm on a far road. The sounds carried in the breeze. Peacocks and roosters crow across the country road. Chippy birds chatter. I have ears to hear.
 
Green, green maple leaves by the thousands – the millions – dance beside me. I have eyes to see.
 
I open the Word. I don’t choose the Psalm. It chooses me. It speaks. I listen. With the Psalmist, I “praise the Lord … I praise the name of the Lord … for the Lord is good … great … does whatever pleases Him … will vindicate His people and have compassion on His servants.” His servants. That’s me. That’s my daughter. We are His servants.
 
And now, once again, I know His grace. He has revealed it to me in a thousand ways. I have a spirit to know it. I have ears to hear and eyes to see. It is a beautiful sustaining grace like the green, green of the maple leaves.
 
I breathe it in – grace upon grace ..
 
Psalm 135
 
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The Sun Sets on Route 66 (Route 66, Chapter 7)

The Leaning Tower of Texas caught our eyes as we left Texas and entered Oklahoma . 

The tiny city of Sayre, Oklahoma welcomed us

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The Last Waterfall of the Trip – And I Missed It! Post 9 – From “The Getaway . . .”

Daddy bought a new Kodak 3 mm in 1955, so my family, including my brother and sister, inherited a plethora of photos, most preserved in slide format. Some years ago, I transferred these slides to digital form, saving them on disks for my family.  I’m nostalgic, to say the least. I thrive in a mid-century décor shop. Program my TV to record 40’s and 50’s  movies on Turner Classic. So when I view those digital photos or browse through my mother’s photo albums, I seem to “go back in time.” And I love it!

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I Hate Bats! Post 6 – From “The Getaway. . .”

I had looked at photos and articles in the brochures, pamphlets, and travel guides of the park, considering which sites Ron and I might want to see. Much to my distress, one article had a photo of a bat, which I immediately covered up by folding the corner of the paper over it.

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I think my plans are the best!? Post 3 in the series, “The Getaway: Seeking . . .”

Ron and I have a passion for waterfalls, so today we made plans to see five waterfalls in surrounding areas outside this huge park. We marked them on our map, set our gps for directions, and headed toward Ironwood on the Wisconsin border. Our goal: five waterfalls.

We saw one.

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I Own This Property on the Great Lake (Post 2 in the series, “The Getaway – Seeking Sounds of Silence, the Secret Place of Rest, and Wisdom”

The dull but busy road we encountered yesterday in the Lower Peninsula (click here to read Post 1)  changed to an unusually quiet stretch of lonesome highway as we crossed the large bridge and headed west, chasing the sun in its setting hours. It was like we had  traveled some decades back in time.

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Who is Traveling? (Post 1 in the series, “The Getaway – Seeking Sounds of Silence, the Secret Place of Rest, and Wisdom”

Today’s highway is paved, flat, barren, and ugly, but adequate and necessary, nonetheless, for our purpose of journey – to pull our little “home away from home,” headed north to our destination, yet 600 miles away. The eyes of my driver, the man I’ve journeyed with nearly 50 years must scan the road, follow the lanes, obeying the signage and lineage. I choose to observe the landscape  – instead of the road.

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Remember what He said . . .

The day was the worst ever. It was neither “Good” nor “Holy,” as we now refer to the Friday of Holy Week. In the midst of the curious, the angry, the Jewish officials, and the Roman soldiers, this handful of Christ followers – the women – stood near the cross, numbed in their sorrow and despair. Their Messiah, their Lord, their Savior,  had been brutally beaten – beyond recognition. Earlier, they had followed Him and the procession of onlookers as He carried His cross, sometimes falling to the ground, up the hill.

How can He possibly continue. Please God.

But He did continue.

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