He said, “Let there be light,” and night was separated from day and light from darkness. And there was light, and it was good.
And it still is.
The problem, of course, is that it’s there, it’s there every day, but I don’t always see it. The sun rises and sets, and sometimes I notice, but more often I don’t. Because I’m busy you know, with important stuff – like dishes and laundry, word counts and platforms.
God knows this. He’s patient with me.
And so sometimes, I think, when he really wants to get my attention, he uses my children, who tug at my arm and cajole, “Come on! Come on, Mommy, you have to see this!”
And so I slide from the kitchen barstool and shuffle into flip flops. And I grab my camera from the desk drawer, because Noah knows me and he says, “You’re going to want your camera for this. But hurry because it’s going to be gone soon!”
I think sometimes when God really wants me to see, he does something dramatic, something so awesome that I look and I see and I can’t look away.
Which is exactly what he did this week with a common iris and a shaft of light from the setting sun.
“Isn’t the light just perfect?” whispered Noah, and I nodded yes, snapping.
And I was on my knees in the grass.
In the light.
Counting toward 1,000 gifts and beyond with Ann's community:
339 Light on iris
340 Blackbird tipping his head to sip from a puddle on the roof
341 Lavender-scented lotion
342 Noah singing "River in Judea" in the shower
343 Morning mist on the golf course
344 Sleepy boy in bed
345 Smell of rain on hot pavement
346 Kising his cool cheek
347 Smell of onions cooking on the stove
348 A husband who makes me a tuna sandwich
349 Tiny speckled cardinal eggs cozy in a nest
350 Mama cardinal sitting quiet