I am much more of a night owl than a morning bird. I love the quiet whined down after a long loud day. Because of that, I have only caught a very few sunrises, yet, they are a miracle that happens every day.
What beauty have you been missing out on? Why?
I think it’s okay to be a night owl, and now catch every sunrise, as long as I remember it still happens, and it’s a gift.
Sometimes I feel like an overturned cup of confetti… Until I remember cups are for holding liquid, not everyone else’s bits and pieces. Confetti wants to be thrown around, shared, and bring colour to the world.
Remember, it’s okay to throw those bits around, as long as you clean up after the party is over.
Trees are more like people than we often think. They hide so much beneath the ground, just like humans hid part of themselves behind pretending.
Beauty, intricate personalities, strangeness, connectivity, how we and they reach out for each other.
It’s often not until something unwanted, something uncomfortable happens and washes away the dirt, that we get a glimpse of what a person is really like. Sometimes, it’s not pretty. Other times, it reveals amazing things.
Not all buried things are bad or ugly. Even when beautiful there are things that need to STAY burred to grow properly, other things need to be protected for a.
But then, after growth, they need to be pulled up, and out, before we can use them.
I wonder what carrots think when they are harvested?
There is something about the color orange.
It inspires and glows. It’s joy to pull orange things out of the dirt, and pluck them from a branch.
I have always loved the simple things in life. A nice sharp crayon. A heavily weighted paper.
Yet the latter never belonged wrapped around the other, even in my child mind. I would unwrap each individual crayon so that the whole could be used for making my pictures.
As an adult, I am learning how to unwrap my own label and use all of me.
I would also look for the darkest part of the driveway, or church parking lot to scribble out my creations in calk. They just never looked as good on the light gray of normal cement slabs.
Contrast is still important. It helps us see details we would otherwise miss.
The way you look at things makes all the difference. It’s not about changing truths, but seeing what God really intents for each of us. If I believe he has had a plan for me since the dawn of time, then every mark, stain, and wrinkle has been accounted for. He WILL use all of them.
The Mourning Dove is not a creature I ever thought about before our first homeschool unit last September. There are several pairs that call our neighborhood home, and a few of them even wintered here instead of flying south. Our feeder was a welcome buffet.
Their call is a haunting song of love.
I was captured by the beauty of the European starling in our lessons. Aggressive, invasive in North America, and so aware of its own striking appearance.
I do not need to hide, I am emperor of the skies.
They exude confidence, wrapped in shimmering tones.
The European Robin is much smaller than its cousin from North American. This little guy is fragile and lively.
Curiosity becomes a common trait in generation that live around people, but experience little danger.
I remember my Father’s back and legs, clad in gray overalls, being the only thing visible as he leaned into the open maw of his truck’s hood. If we came to close with our loud games, he would shoosh us. He was listening.
He knew the sound of a healthy engine. He could tell what was off… The sound wasn’t right.
In all the noise of the universe, I wonder if our planet sound off as it spins. Can God hear the clank of my heart and tell just what isn’t quite right?
I imagine he listens closely to our world.
A world made to work, move, revolve, expand, collide, and create in the middle of deceptive chaos.
The constant churning of ideas, peoples, matter, all looks like a blended mess from the middle. But what does it look like as we take a step back and view the whole? Is there a rhyme or a reason?
The marks of our history litter this world. Even the rusted rim of a wheel has a story to tell us. It’s a piece of the puzzle, the hand of God is laying out. Only he knows their planned order.
If the world sounds off, maybe it’s just because He isn’t finished yet.