Time.Pure, free-flowing moments strung together in peaceful fragments, quilted together producing a day enveloped in bliss. Such has been my dance of late. Snowy days, windy nights, power-parched afternoons . . . all add up to holiday if I choose to celebrate the joy springing forth all around me.
And I do . . .
A walk in the gardens after a wintry flurry
Fascinates the senses with fleeting beauty.
The artists run and play,
leaving a trail of art that imitates life.
The good life.
Artistry follows inside as remnants and outgrown socks
Become creatures most dear
spawned in gentle moments of joyful creation.
I live richly with spates of power-free living (yes, we have a generator, but how I love the silence of a powerless break), candlelit dinners, and the playing of games around the trusty woodstove all wedged in between long lingering pauses with book in hand. These elements become my good . . . become my life.
My days have unrolled with a greater number of crannies for the sitting and thinking therein. A simple choice to live for a bit without recording device or literary convention, has blessed me with fresh perspective, quiet refreshment, and the unfurling of tender fronds of joy in the simple that peeks from the lowly places in my day.
I turned my back on blogging for a bit to evaluate, assess, and wonder. Can I find the time to do this without shaving from somewhere more valuable? Has this hobby become unwieldy for a woman dedicated to God-husband-family-hearth? Do needs pass unmet as I wander the day with camera in hand and prose flowing from heart to pen? In these past quiet days I have accounted and found that my family has received enough and then some, my home sparkles more than required. So where did I find lack? ‘Twas so simple . . . ‘twas in my thirsting for sweet time to be just me without audience or record.
The precious growth of my person and soul depends on quietness with my Lord. Not merely the devotional moments that I start each day upon, nor even the late afternoon tea-time given over to gentle thoughts and reading of something filled with delight. Rather, I must walk quietly through the ocean of my own thoughts in the presence of my Lord. I bring everything to His throne. I run with nothing but what His hands hath provided. At least I strive to do so. When I live in unceasing prayer and abiding love the joy of living catches me up on wings and I laugh, live, love as I have always dreamed of doing. But . . .
when I leave off the quiet, naming it selfish solitude, and harness myself as a vessel to carry mere requests to my Father I become weary: faltering, falling, failing. Of late I mistook the privilege of sharing in others’ hopes and dreams and pain and sorrow and disappointment as a work order. The “news” frothed over with fearful details and frightful outcomes. I spent hours reading, recording, and praying (nothing to be ashamed of), BUT then I began to worry and fret and gnash my teeth a bit. Recently I read this and found my reflection. I cringed.
How can you hope to make the imperfect things perfect, unless you keep before your eyes the vision of God, who is perfection? The prayer that is against only evil destroys itself. If you look at nothing but sorrow and sin, your heart may be at first full of love and pity, but presently anger – righteous perhaps, but still anger – will enter and begin to crowd out love; and then despair will come and deaden pity, and at last will even smother righteous anger. And then there will be silence for the heart that is filled with despair cannot pray.
It is not enough to know that the world is full of evil, we must know that God is good.
Christ is a part of all the poverty and misery because He was born into it and didn’t try to get away from it. If you put Him in the background, with the sin and sorrow all in front, how He shines and makes courage and hope! Yes! And if you put Him in the front with the darkness all around Him, how He shines again! Either way, He is the light in the picture.
~~ Florence Converse~~
The House of Prayer
How clearly I saw that my slogging to the Lord in prayer had nipped all buds of joy and overlooked any beauteous sprig that fell along the sodden pathway. My tears and sweat produced muck . . . and dancing became impossible.
And so I rested and dipped deep into the pools of refreshment I find lying around in abundance here at Wisteria Cottage.
In a mere week’s respite I found my footing again. My dancing shoes stopped pinching. Showers of peace rained laughter and joy. The true luxuries of life returned. I daresay I will blog/read/comment less frequently, but with a richness that will fill this place with a fragrance pleasing to Him.
I choose to live in luxury . . . His luxury . . . every day. Won’t you join me?
Iced tea anyone?