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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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If a Bear Growls in the Woods, . . . – Post 10 from “The Getaway . . .”

That last day of our northern getaway, we drove on to revisit and re-create the final sites from my memories in 1955. In this case, I’m glad only the photo setting was recreated – not the actual event that occurred here at my grandpa’s cabin many years ago.

I was just a wee one. My family was at the cabin – a small log cabin in the deep woods, just south of L’Anse, Michigan, located on a sandy road on the way to Little Mountain.

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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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Turn, Turn, Turn: There is a time . . . Post 7 – From “The Getaway…”

When I was a teenager, I had a clock radio much like the one pictured. Mine had a “snooze” button on top, which I used a lot! An analog clock is rarely used today, is it? Instead, nowadays we most often look at the digital clocks on our dashboards, ovens, and especially on our phones. Occasionally, when Ron and I are driving, we cross a time zone line, and one or both of our cell phones doesn’t “catch up!” That is confusing. Well, something similar happened to us during our time camping in the Porkies.

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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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True Confessions

I pray as I walk the sandy lane, talking to the Father about those early days, years ago, when I was so zealous in my faith, so trusting, so willing. I remember the words written on the thin pages of my King James Bible, so vivid and distinct, as though they were freshly written with the very ink on the true papyrus used by St. Paul. The words seemed to magnify, embolden, and rise up, penetrating my spirit:

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