I went out grudgingly.
Would have rather stayed in to clean the bathrooms.
Do some scrapbooking.
Get a batch of muffins in the oven.
All the important things I wanted to do today.
But the fractiousness of little boys after a week of April showers forced me out.
Out into the garden.
Warmth and sunshine washing over.
The almost green of our snow-flattened grass.
And birdsong.
Birdsong, and I’m Mary Lennox, chasing a robin over a garden gate.
Birdsong, and I’m Jane Eyre with her rooks, exploring Thornfield Hall on her very first morn.
Birdsong, and time is lost,
and I’m myself fifteen years past, discovering a walled garden of my very own.
Scotland.
Pussy willows and crocuses.
Blackbirds and brick.
Birdsong today, and the magic of viewing the world
upside-down
from a swing.
And it’s springtime,
and doesn’t your heart ache with the glory of it?
Of life,
new beginnings,
winter’s end?
And I’m thankful,
wildly thankful in a way I could never express,
for the possibility of all things,
me included,
being turned upside down,
made new.
And I wonder at the sun’s warmth,
and that He calls Himself that,
our Sun and our Shield.
Our Shield,
for don’t we need protecting
from many things,
even ourselves?
Our Sun,
for don’t we revel in the light and the heat?
Don’t we thrive?
Get life?
Doesn’t He give us life
eternally?
Spring.
It has come upon us.
Find a tree stump.
A picnic table.
A bench.
Wait for birdsong.
And just breathe.
Be still and know that I am God.
Psalm 46:10
Listen…
happy little sigh 