Like a lover's kiss

Getting away.
The last days of summer.
Squeezing hard the pursuing.
For rest.  And beauty. 
To just be.

And so we hit the road.
My man and me.
Just a bag and a camera.
Some books and a journal.
To celebrate what is.

And what we found.
By letting go.  Traveling light.
Conversation good; unraveling life.
Beauty-surrounding goodness.
Soaking it in; this unencumbered.
The unhurry; days full of slow to recapture our hearts.

Living the moment; savoring well.
Kisses stolen.  A playful grin.
Laughing and teasing and drinking in new.
Tables on street corners under the moon.
A quiet understanding; a girl and her man.

But ahh, now it's Monday.
Home.  Missing then.

Somehow it's different.
And no going back.
Life stretches forward.

And I am reminded. 
How we are wired; how put together. 
To enjoy and live full; this life.
To pursue the romance.
The happiness, joy.

But the stuff here on earth.
Comes too quickly to end.
And the arrows and disappointments fall hard.

And the happiness trips. We fall in pursuit.
Of things not fulfilling.  Disappointing.  Again.

And as good as a trip with a man I adore.

The getting away, the romance, the fun.
The beauty of seasons colliding.

There is more.

Journal filling.  Eyes wide open.
Turning pages. Conversations deep. Hungry for God in the beauty of slow.

And then.
Grace falling like rain.
Helping me breathe. 
Helping me live.  Seeing truth.

The stunning love of God.

And like a lover's kiss. 
The response comes easy.

Delight.
 
Pure and simple.
For this sacred romance.

To be loved so by God.
Unconditionally.  Unfathomably. 

No difficult task; loving back.
It's the sense of duty that kills.

And just like the joy in spending time with my man.
And the extravagant goodness of being away.
So, too, the joy even better.
This worship.  Of God the Creator.

And me.  Delighting in God.

All else. This past week. 
All the goodness.
A sweet gift. 
From God.

And so I miss that time tucked away.
And I am grateful for my sweet man.

But this I remember on Monday.
And all days in between.

Happiness.  Joy. 
Within our grasp.

In delighting in God.
The Sacred Romance.

And my response.
Easy. Like a lover's kiss.

Delight.
On a Monday morning.

To really learn

I pick up my pen.  Thankful.
For pen and paper.
How I live; writing.
Writing.  Reading.  Thinking.

This time; different.  The reading.
A new discipline challenges. 
And not just for the moment.
Or a day or two.  And losing momentum.
Not this time.

This time.  To really learn. 

It is one thing to read a book and appreciate. 
To have it resonate.  Deeply.
Or to listen to words and agree with the heart.
Truth to rejoice over. 
And to rejoice. 

But in the rereading.
Of 1000 Gifts.  Written by Ann.
Something more getting my attention.

And I'm listening.

Because the worry of life. 
The un-trust. The discontent.
So much to burden the heart. 
So much to slow the soul.

Worry, complaint, anger; our natural default. Fighting hard for self. 
Hiding the fear.  The angst.  The questioning.
The whys of the not-enough riddling our soul.

And so it resonates.  This story.  1000 Gifts.
In someone like Ann. 
Sharing her journey; so raw, so intimate, so brave.
So riveting; a best-seller.

God-glimmering truth through the cracks of the pain of this world.

Because he, the enemy, not winning the battle.

Already won. By God.

It was in the upper room that Jesus broke the bread and passed the cup.
For us to remember.
And giving thanks.  Always giving thanks. To the Father.
Knowing what was asked of Him.  The cross.

But giving thanks.  Jesus.

Me; having to be reminded.

In all things, give thanks.

And so I am reading again and counting.
Counting 1000 gifts.
Having counted a year ago.  And then again another time.
And then forgetting.  Losing the tablet.
Somewhere in a drawer.

Friends sometimes mocking.
I joining in. 
Ann even; questioning. At first.
Can it really be this simple?

The living full?

Because some days and some events tugging hard against us; being grateful.
Questioning a sovereign God.

But this I know. 
Life was not created solely for my happiness.
Even the thought; embarrassed laughter. 
And yet.  Living like I think so.  Sometimes.  Much too often.

Ann helping me remember.

And, more importantly, to learn.
To really learn.
The discipline required.  The coaxing on a hard day.
To count gifts.  To be grateful.

Writing it down.  Making a list.
So the default in my head changes.

The new default; gratitude.
By making lists.
#301. a quiet house
#302. good conversation
#303. sky rumbling with thunder
#304. summer warm on the patio
#305. stars coming out one by one
#306. the silhouette of pines tall 

And joy even and giddy happiness.  In the naming of gifts.

Appreciating what I overlook and do not see.  Usually.
By not picking up pen and paper.
Or my camera.

But to really learn; discipline transforming.  Worth the effort.
The lens changing everything.

#307. picturesque old barn in summer
#308. wooden rail fence zig-zagging across meadow
#309. window full of wondering high on a house
#310. dandelions dancing
#311. cornflower blue doors welcoming

And the ordinary, everyday; becoming holy ground.

 

I'm counting

The first day since recovering. 
Seeing the 4th from behind the window. 
Lying low.

And today. Rejoicing in feeling better.  Loving normal.  Really appreciating.

Windows down.  Breezing down the road.  Enjoying a summer day. 

Music taking me back.  You know, now the oldies.
Singing.  Smiling.  Almost painful the feeling.

Another summer.  Long ago.

Carefree.  Barefoot.  Days on the beach.  Best friends.
A boyfriend too. Sweet romance. 
Still riding my bike.  All over town.  Innocent carefree days.

But today.  Another season.  Still summer but another season.

Empty nest. Getting older.

A new chapter.  A new kind of summer.

Still feeling the girl.   
But only a glance in the rear view mirror.  Reversing the daydream.
Seeing the gray.  Seeing the years.

Counting.
 
Nearing another birthday.  A big one.

What happened to the girl?  The summer?  The dreams?

What happened to us all?  Those fortunate enough to share the view from here.

No life without scars.  Often deep pain.  Still. 

But this I know.  One thing I have learned.  To stop living life like an emergency.

Because the moments.  All we have.

Our choice.  How to live them.

And I am counting these days. 
Not the days until I turn sixty.  No.  Not that.

Counting the gifts.  The everyday gifts.

The unfolding beauty of the moment. 

This I learned from Ann. 
Ann "without the e".
Not a Pollyanna sort of thing.
No.  Not that either.

A deep abiding faith in the hand of the Creator.
Sovereign over life.
Redeeming.  Turning ugly into beautiful. 
Loving unfathomably.
Giving gifts daily - if we see.

So I am looking.  Being reminded daily.

To appreciate.  To see.  Not to miss.

And so I count.

Singing in the car. 
Blueberries sweet and juicy in buckets.  Fuzzy peaches heavy in a brown bag.
Laughing with a friend.  Windows down.  Carefree.
Seagulls wheeling.  
Fields full of corn standing tall.
Flags waving in the breeze.  Roadside stands.  Produce piled high. 
Fluffy white clouds, jaw-dropping; reminders of tropical trips.
Mailbox stuffed full.  Aqua door welcoming.
Sharing a sweet kiss.  Husband helping with dinner.  Best friend goodness.
Dinner with a guest.  Laughing some more.  Summer food filling.
Patio overflowing in the warm; flowers, butterflies, bees.
A hummingbird.  Birds twittering; a cacophony.
Sun sinking low.  Tall pines a silhouette.  Sky smudged with pinks.
Dusk velvety and soft.  Fireflies. 
Barefoot warmth.  End of day slows.
 
Nothing more beautiful. 
Than the moment.

Slowing down to see.
Counting the gifts easy to overlook.

And when a day is hard.  Even many days.  Or most.

 

Still I choose.
To be grateful.  To be thankful.  To count.  

Always something for which to bend the knee.
But, indeed, a discipline.

Easier on a summer day such as this. 
But still counting on other days.  Because a decision.
To live this wild and beautiful life full of joy.

For it is out of His hand that we accept the gifts.
And in the counting; worship.

There may be hardship.  There may be pain.  But always gifts for the one who sees.

And in the looking; living a life.
Where every moment is "holy, ordinary, amazing grace".