i'm full of wonder and incredulity. it's been one of those days that turns into a week that blinks into a month. and here i am. wondering how i made it to this date on the calendar. it's as if i exhaled and nearly 30 days passed. how is that possible?
this morning, our sunday morning ritual realized. some of us early risers. some of us not. i stood in my little sanctuary, my kitchen peering out the window. blinking out the bright sun and trying to decide if i should curtail the blinding light with cloth or keep the windows uncovered. this is where i go to worship most days, well really everyday. my kitchen sink is where i work through the weights and whiles of this world. praying and thinking and stewing and cursing and ultimately accepting.
i looked over at my hard working espresso maker spewing out my, ahem, second helping of the morning. and i thanked god for the delights of this black substance that brings me such joy.
cup in hand i walked out to the back porch, littered with dogs and unfinished art projects. praise to the maker, the creator of artistic means and ways.
walking passed my bookshelves covered from top to bottom with books most of which i have never read, but have collected in hopes that one day i will. o, those beautifully bound words deemed worthy to publish. praise the lord and pass the nonfiction.
the mister is up and out with two of our strapping gentlemen in pursuit of more lawn tools. a day of yard work awaits. the second day of what will likely be a summer long taming of the shrew and shrubs. wrestling creation back into submission as we kill off some bossy honeysuckle and threatening poison ivy-and teaching our boys to drive a riding lawn mower.
i see little altars all over my home. invitations to worship-not my stuff, but the creator of my stuff. i am reminded of this as i read a taped piece of paper not so neatly cut out that hangs over my sink. it reads: "for we know that if the tent, which is our earthly home, is destroyed, we have a building from god, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. for in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling".
the littlest pestered for food. i distractingly ran through a list of possible options. he chose my homemade apple bread over cold cereal. it may not be healing the blind, but it's close to a miracle.
i returned to the sink. more to see. more to do. more to work through. but mostly more to worship and enjoy. and it's only sunday. a week's worth of opportunity awaits.
i hope your sunday is full of such things. see good.