When the heart pumps toxins and the blood curdles sour, I let the veins with a pen, flush out the poison with ink. Writing down God-graces is the way I know to cleanse a soul.
It’s in my fingertips, near the tip of the pen, where I first feel it, this happiness looping and lining, and my liver purifies the pain with the thanks.
It’s a fast medicine, praise and glory. I must remember. I journal count the ways He loves me and His love makes me dizzy giddy happy.
So we wander out to the orchard. There are times it’s time to go feel the wind, hear the earth serenade God with the glory. The trees teach us the lyrics.
September sun lays its warm hand across our backs.
Children laugh and pick apples and we spread out the wee picnic quilt, take plates and cups from its back pockets, and pour more sunshine, and I read aloud books and books and books.
Souls weary. It’s okay. We have those days, and we go find rest. Jesus did. A Peace Retreat anywhere, here, and we invite Peace, the God-Man, to be part of our quotiditan rhythms, and we move our lives into His. His yoke is easy and His burden is light.
“I like laying out here,” Hope-girl murmurs, eyes closed in the basking, her bare toes painted in the summer gold.
“Read another page, Mama?”
I do, lay back into her and more words, and the bodies pile on top and the giggles percolate down, soak straight through to the marrow.
The gentle Son heals.
Lord God, when burnout singes,
let us sing praise,
let us go feel the wind,
let You fan the embers into
a joy flame.
And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.~Phil.4:8
Books: Mud Pies and Other Recipes: A Cookbook for Dolls
Perfect Blank Spiral for a Visual Journal
Wee Picnic Quilt with Pockets: by my Mama, present for Shalom
Photos: gratitude journal, SONning in the orchard
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