Christian Living

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It’s an exceptionally beautiful, sunny day in north central Texas. Amazing for February! Were it summer, I doubt that I’d be sitting outside, as a day like this would be far too hot. The grass is still just as green as it was last August. Some would call me a fool to pray it will freeze over. But the mosquitoes will carry us away this summer if winter fails to do its job.

The leaves on the evergreen bushes dance with the same light breeze that filters its way through and lifts my long, overly heavy hair. The birds are singing and a jet plane leaves a trail of white across the bright blue, cloudless eastern sky. I’ve let the children I watch out in the yard and their gleeful screams of delight play on my ears. Someone down the street is hard at work with a chainsaw.

A squirrel scampers across the street, up the light pole and jumps over to the bald cottonwood branches, pecan in tow. Life is buzzing brilliantly by, as though it could care less that I exist. Monday morning is gone. I sigh: “Ah, Monday morning, bitter Monday morning, what a cruel game you’ve played.”

But my own spirit rebukes me: “This is the day that the Lord has made! Rejoice and be glad in it!” Forgive me. Help me. Oh, my soul, I command you to be content!

Dishes wait for me in the sink. I pray for change. A fly searches for hidden treat on the ground in front of me. I hate flies almost as much as I hate mosquitoes. And here comes that awful train again. Why do they find it necessary to lay on that horn so much?

I want life to slow down and change to speed up. How utterly selfish am I? I wonder where You are and if You hear me in the middle of the rush. But the real question is, do I hear You? I tuck my hair behind my ears to keep that breeze from blowing it in my face. And now, the same breeze kisses my cheek and wraps me up in a subtle embrace.

While these moments, like vapors, flee, I search for solidity. Empty. Spirit of the Most High, the only solid and sure thing I know, is that man working so hard with that chainsaw aware of You? No sooner does the thought cross my mind, but that the sound of the chainsaw stops momentarily. Wow! Does that man know what (or Who) touched him? Deep in my spirit, I hear his spirit singing “Hallelujah!” Then, right back to work he goes.

I should go back inside and finish those dishes. But I’m having a hard time tearing myself away from Your embrace. You’ve given me You in the subtle form of a breeze. Let me find You there too, inside, and “inside,” outside the (busi)ness of another Monday.

Blessed be Your Name. And blessed is this sunny Monday afternoon.
© Joyce Pool

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