Monday, February 08, 2010

What a Day is Always Really Made of...



When we lose the cap to the glue stick like we always inevitably do, I kneel on the floor to check under his grandmother’s table that sits in our study, peer under the legs of the 100 year old chairs.

And the cascade of sun falls on the nape of my neck, runs down my back all warm.

I say it aloud, a purr of the skin-warmed in February, “Ohhhhhh, I am a cat basking.”

I lie right out on the century planks and I don’t give a second thought to a dried out stick of glue. And a beautiful child face leans over the edge of the table and giggles and I look up into laughter at me all stretched out in light.

A day is always made of Light if the eyes and the heart and the hand opens wide. And February floods the floor like sun water seeping and the planks stay dry and all light is old, eight minutes long coming from sun.

These are the sun lengthening days when I lengthen out in light.




more of the endless gifts, warm Light, flooding




#1393.  Day cracking open across the white shell of fields






#1394.  Honeyed light of old wood and all things home






#1395. Snow falling softly over the hearth






#1396. The Light that never leaves






#1397.  Hope, everyday hope






#1398. Shaping the day's loaves in first light






#1399.  Boys coming in the door from the cold and the chores and the barn with the words, "Bread sure smells good, Mom."





#1400.  When the seams tear and life unravels, believing in the Light that holds it all together








#1401. The Light of Christ that splits all dark, saturates all things, warms always.

 

"When I met Christ, I felt that I had swallowed sunshine."

~E. Stanley Jones


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Want to drink the joy elixir? Become a Joy Finder? Consider joining the Gratitude Community -- just jump in with your own counting!

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Lesley in TN


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JoAnn at Hallum's Notes and Musings
Mary Lynn at Basking in Grace
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Reeve at Poured Out Life
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Photos: Seeing the Light here
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In the experiences of a simple/crazy life,
farming Canadian dirt, raising
half a dozen exuberant kids,
stringing sheets out on the line....

I'm praying to slow and see
the sacred in the chaos,
the Cross in the clothespin,
the flame in the bush.

Just a bit of
listening, laundry, liturgy...
life.






Compassion Bloggers: Guatemala 2010

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