Up to her usual shenanigans, April plays with us once again. She dusts our neighborhoods with snow while we sleep, chuckling at our dismay as we peer out the window in the morning. It doesn’t seem to matter to her we have the hammock and the swing in the yard. She tells us its sweater-time one day and sends us running for our winter coat the next. It is as if she knows the whole world is upside down. Why should she be the one to be predictable?
Nothing else is.
Nothing is as it should be
Nothing is as we expected it would be
A virus rampages over the earth, bringing with it unimaginable grief, pain and loss to so many.
And yet . . .
At Lake Opeka, yellow-green ribbons on “my” willow tree, whip in the wind. Water gently slaps against the rocks with a bit more energy than usual. Grass turns a brilliant spring green, right on schedule. The Good Shepherd Lutheran Church stands tall at the north end of the lake. The clump of willow trees at the south end wave their yellow green ribbons, in triumph after a wild wind tore out the center branch a couple years ago.
Lingering, I remember the conversation I had with my counselor this week, as he reminded me of the freedom and hope that transcends all the things, and all the people bouncing off the walls. He reminds me it is not about the external circumstances of my life. I find freedom and hope when I stay in the moment, in the now I have been given.
Jesus and me in my now – this I know has not changed and will not change. I know I most easily find him when I am noticing the things he created and being with people I love. This is where I often sense his presence with me.
While I have been doing the best I can to stay safely connected with those I love, I am seriously deficient in my contact with nature. The beaches are closed. I haven’t seen Lake Michigan for weeks, staying in the house as if the virus is in the air outside my door. I knew it is time to get out and connect with the nature that draws me to the Creator.
That’s why I find myself at the Lake today, noticing, paying attention.
April will return again with her usual playful mischief. May she find us growing, though it be with scars still visible from the upside-down-ness of a virus going wild.
Lord, may it be so.
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And now dear reader . . . did you know the red and yellow poppies are blooming in the Amador County foothills in California. Click HERE – drink in the exquisite beauty of yellow, orange, and green. (ignore the ad and turn up the volume.)
You’re welcome.
And if you are so inclined, I always like to hear from you.
What are you noticing these days. What centers and grounds you in your now?