we're on break in tennessee and still staring at her, for she is so good and so simple ... and trying to rest and more than that to trust even on days when faith feels far too fragile a thing ...
and there's barely enough prose cooking within me for one blog, let alone two, so would you mind, dear friends, reading my imperfect offering over at Banebow today?
can't wait to read your offerings this week -- how this writer's community is a balm in the dry times.
This reminds me of Mother Theresa's saying about the blessing of our humanness, that we cannot do great things, just small things with great love. I wrote of such a small moment last summer:
ReplyDeleteSometimes, it’s the small, astonishing moments that make the most, and the least, sense. On a drowsy July morning, no better or worse than any other July morning, the little yellow finch died. He’d been hurling himself against the window of my study all summer long but on this particular day I was lounging on the old creaking swing on the back deck, rocking to and fro, dazed by the heat from the mid-day sun. In the midst of my languor I felt the air stir in front of me, felt the yellow finch fall, his body tumbling onto the worn wooden boards at my feet, the soft whisper of feathers as his breath left and he settled into death. I know what you’re thinking, that he was just another bird, just another yellow bird. But I cried for that bird. I cried because I’d watched him through my window every single day, a small thing, it’s true…
Your words touched me as I struggle with anxiety. You are in my thoughts and prayers. *hugs*
ReplyDelete