It’s definitely time for a post.  I’ve had swirling thoughts and a lot has happened in our small world–I’ve been processing.

I’m sitting outside under some sort of cherry blossom tree in our backyard.  I awkwardly tried to drag a comfy patio chair out underneath it for a different perspective and to be off the concrete; I finally succeeded.  Duke keeps peeking around the sides of the laptop, hoping for an affectionate pet.  He then whines a bit, lays down at my feet, and starts the process again.  Black grackles keep swooping in behind to eat from the watermelon rind I left in the back flowerbeds.  Though they’re loud (my mother thinks they sound demonic and I agree), I can appreciate their black beauty.  After what seemed like weeks of unbearably windy days, I now feel only a light breeze.

Surrounded by all the green, I can’t help but think about the miracle of life.  It is not something that simply appears but instead is a long and often times arduous process.  This past winter was long, grey, and cold.  When I lived in Colorado, I loved winter–the low humidity made it feel warmer than it was, the sun shined nearly everyday, and I absolutely love snow.  While we did have some snow here, it was not the same.  I spent much of the summer longing to be outside in the sun.  But it appears now that we were merely in the growing pains associated with rebirth–for things to seemingly die before they can be made new and bloom.  Would a spring without the dark days be as miraculous?  I say no.  For the dark days were not spent simply hunkered down, waiting for life to show itself.  Instead they were spent preparing and growing in the unseen ways for the days when they would be seen.

Therefore be patient, brethren, until the coming of the Lord.  The farmer waits for the precious produce of the soil, being patient about it, until it gets the early and late rains.  You too be patient; strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. James 5:7-8

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