Change

Lights flashing, engines roaring, the huge green behemoth crawls through the ripe grain, its paddlewheel nose cutting and separating, storing and discarding, bringing in the harvest. The noise wails out that summer is drawing to a close, that lows and rains, gales and ice lie ahead. But today – today the sun is shining from a cloud-scattered sky and in that sun is warmth.

We always live on the cusp of change, though we don’t always notice. Day follows night and we get into a rhythm, almost oblivious to the changes all around. There are annual changes, and there are forever changes. When we were expecting our first baby, we looked forward to a time when life would get back to normal. Of course, we soon found ourselves embracing a new normal.

Today I choose to live in the joy of the moment, swollen cheek and all. I see signs of change and pray that I’ll be enabled to embrace change with grace and hope, always trusting in our loving Father.

Repetitive strain...

A few weeks ago, the farmer spread the manure over the field. Today, in the winter sunshine, he is back. His tractor pulls the plough up and down, up and down, tediously repetitive and slow. But one furrow at a time, the field is being transformed from the tired green of root-bound weeds and grass into the rich brown of freshly-turned soil. One furrow at a time. 

There is a rhythm in the farmer’s life, a repetitive rhythm. Tedious or comforting in its predictability? Depends on one’s point of view, on one’s state of mind, on one’s focus.

Monday, Monday. It can sound like a lament, or like a celebration. I confess that today, having tackled a tax miscalculation and preparing to wade into another insurance confusion for Mom, the refrain was more lament than celebration. But then as I sat in the window and watched the steady progress of the farmer’s plough, there was a shift in my thoughts. 

This is the day the Lord has made. I am up and healthy, blessed with loved ones and blessed with choices. The boundaries for me have fallen in pleasant places. Peaceful places. Places where I am free to roam. I will rejoice and be glad in this day, Monday, as I prepare to get my head around the intricacies of insurance. 

The farmer presses on until the whole field is ploughed. With God’s help, I will press on, too.

Who's that Knocking?

I turned down the lane before 8. The ground was still soaking from yesterday’s relentless showers, but overhead the skies were clearing and the birds raised spring voices in a joyous chorus.

I paused because the tapping of the woodpecker was louder, closer than I’d ever heard. We see them occasionally at the bird feeder, and magnificent they are with their stylish red splotch, and I often hear them at a distance, but never before as close as this. 

Dusty passed me, sniffing out bunnies and pheasants, wondering, no doubt, what had halted my progress. I just stood looking up, trying to see the woodpecker in the tall pine. But try as I might, I just couldn’t see him.

As we carried on, I tuned my ears for other birdsongs, and I became aware of the rhythm of each call. I guess it’s obvious there is a rhythm, for without rhythm, each bird would just staccato deliver its notes and no song would be distinctive. Each is distinctive because of the cadence, as well as the notes. 

Ok, that’s all pretty obvious, but this morning I just found it so refreshing to let my mind clear and just listen to the rhythm of the morning. I let the distant sound of traffic fade, the occasional blast of overflying jets pass without notice. I stopped talking to God. Normally, I carry on a pretty constant monologue with my Maker as I walk, bringing before Him all those I love and for whom I am concerned. 

But this morning I closed my mouth, and listened.  It was the sound of the feathered chorus in the trees that captivated me.

How often does God long for me to just ‘be’ in his presence. To listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat. To rejoice in the beauty of his creation. To be refreshed by him.

But I babble on. Sorry.

One Year On

The wild wind is whipping the icy rain against the dirty windowpanes. I’ve taken down the Christmas decorations and the tree, and vacuumed up a couple of weeks worth of dust. The party’s over.

One year ago today, we buried my dad. My mind returns to that scene again and again, remembering the Marine bugler playing Taps, and then the other smartly-dressed Marine folding the flag and giving it to my mom. Remembering us putting a rose each onto his coffin, a final goodbye kiss. Remembering the sound of the dirt as the gravediggers filled it in again. Remembering the crowded church, and how proud I was of our kids as they read lessons and gave their own reflections on the life of their dear grandfather, aka Spike. Why Spike? He never told us.

Wish he could walk in the door and joke with us like he did before. But that will have to wait til heaven.

Time waits for no-one, they say. Day follows night, follows day, and before you know it, years have flown past and you look in the mirror and notice that the face looking back at you is not as young as you remember it to be.

And so the rhythm of life goes on. Parties follow those stripped-down days spent working. Work follows those joyous days shared with loved ones. 

And, as my cousin would say, it’s all good. 

Because God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world. Though I may not see the whole picture, or understand the why’s and wherefore’s, I can step out into 2012 with a spring in my step and hope in my heart.

Well, I could if my foot weren’t still so sore...