I count them on the way, these apple trees in spring, caught in a blizzard of snow blushing pink.
I count the blossoming limbs, wood grain labouring the delivery of petals, and the roads that coaxed me nervous and tentative away on a Wednesday, they keep their promise and usher me home on a Saturday and I cut the engine in the dark and fall astonished in that back door.
I am not the only one amazed.
“It’s hard to believe.”
Mama’s on the other end of the line. I’ve called her to thank her for her trio of mornings here leading the child tribe onward and I can just see how she’d be shaking her head, “Just hard to believe.”
I unpack wrinkled pajamas, white cotton shirt, black blazer from the red scuffed suitcase as Mama talks, the phone a gentle curve between my shoulder and ear.
“Yes: isn’t it hard to believe that I now really believe?” I reach for a hanger in the closet, steel to fill the dress shoulders strong. “For me too!”
Mama’s gentle laugh rocks, a cradle.
I’m held and I smile and then I hear her speak
“To think of all those years of agoraphobia, all those years of fear and living small and tight… and now you drive alone and cross an international border and hotels and meetings and all with people you’ve never met and it’s just hard to believe how that’s not who you are now.”
Fear — that’s not who I am now. Really? Well. Sort of. At least it is who I am growing out of, away from — I agree. I turn to the window, look out to the fields to harvest the the right words. What’s the difference between now… and all the years and fears before?
“I guess it’s just realizing…. Fear is always the flee ahead. Mentally racing ahead to imagine some catastrophe looming round the next corner. Yeah… fear is alway the flee ahead.” I put my hand on the cool window pane, touching here. Remembering how the mind would dash ahead, anticipating the disaster, how the heart would palpitate, tearing up the chest…
“But…. I’m learning to slow the inner race ahead… “ I can still see me, remember that feeling, when I turned the wrong way on East Beltline, when I couldn’t find thee keys for the van anywhere, when the nerves blotched out heavy on my neck before a meeting… “… to just stay in the moment. There is never fear here — because the Presence of I AM always fills the present.”
I remember how I had breathed when the panic mounted. How I had remembered to count blessings.
“Yes… ” Mama’s voice reaches for the curling wisp of words between us. And I say it to me really, more than her…
“Grace is like a snowflake in spring — it lives only in the present moment.”
We just let the quiet fall. Sun chases shadows across the fields to the east.
I lean against the window frame. And then the last of the words….
“So what has cured the fear? Practising the discipline of the Present. And I practice the discipline of the Present by thanking Him for here.”
A blue jay lands out on a budding apple tree.
“Focusing the eyes on what is grace all here keeps you in His all sufficient grace.”
Mama says it soft, “And so now you believe Grace.”
I do. I am amazed by grace.
And I look out to the jay and the orchard and the sky made blue and all this glinting, ringing, singing world and I know: soon our apple trees will bloom in the orchard too.
I believe.
practicing the discipline of the present by thanking Him for here… more of the endless gifts…
#1490 – #1514
early fog
GPS
a conference on faith and words and the living of both
the red rich of communion long on the lips
a walk with her, headlong into the mothering wind
firm pillows
reading Eugene Peterson’s wisdom
water fountains
delicate spring hung out in trees
Hope words: “Can I turn out the light just as soon as finish up my gratitude list for today?”
pancakes drenched in strawberries with an everest of whip cream and her glory joy early
the happy clap of flip flops applauding summer come early
time to think
omelet and orange juice and her sparkling conversation
hours of silent driving, tuned to God
rolling down the window and the hair whipping: spring!
her and all that we knew the time would be and all that is to come
a notebook
space — on highways, between houses, in heads, through the day
sparrows
Hoosier Ann and her laugh and her heart and her words, memory cupped the miles back
counting minutes left
the voice on the GPS that says, ” In 1.2 kilometers: HOME, on the right” and the hoot holler that escapes from the lungs
Related:
Fear’s the First Step of Faith
Want to drink the joy elixir? Become a Joy Finder? Consider joining the Gratitude Community – just jump in with your own counting!
How to begin your own 1000 Gift List ::: How Gratitude Can Change your Life
( Drop me a line if choose to begin giving intentional thanks and gather fresh joy and I will happily add either your name or a web link to the Gratitude Community I’m slowly getting caught up on meeting all you beautiful folks who have joined the Gratitude Community. Thank you for your kind grace and patience! I’m so looking forward to meeting you all soon!)
If you’d like to share your endless list of Hallelujah! – (please, jump in!) — just add the direct URL to your specific 1000 gift list post… and if you join us, we humbly ask that you please help us find each other by sharing the community’s graphic within your post.
Photos: blooms all taken on my trip…
Share your thoughts?
If you would like Holy Experience posts quietly tucked into your reader or emailed to your inbox for free…
