One Quiet Life

Headlights slice through the black. I watch for animals making their final move under cover of darkness. The day's tasks already run through my mind, the never ending playlist of this life. I'm on autopilot until I turn the corner, when I'm surprised to hear a breathless Wow! escape my lips. I can't count the number of colors I see. The designs painted in the sky. The detail of it all is astonishing. My first inclination is to stop, pull out my phone, and take a picture. Potential captions pop into my head. The car behind me quashes any chance I have at social media popularity for the day. I must keep driving. Although my attention should be on the road, my eyes are continually drawn to the ongoing magnificent display above me. The shifts in light and color are almost imperceptible, but each moment creates a scene more dazzling than the one before it. How could a piece of technology capture an all-glorious God at work? I feel ashamed that I wanted to try. And then, it h

It's Tuesday. I step out into the deep pitch of the morning and mentally prepare for the drive. I don't like driving this early.  Out of nowhere, white orbs hurtle toward me. They pierce the darkness and cause me to squint. I fight the urge to just close my eyes. Instead I focus on the tail lights in front of me. I know the one driving will always lead me to safety; he's been doing that for almost three decades now. Still my hands instinctively grasp tighter. My jaw clenches. A podcast keeps me company, diverts my attention from my fear. I glance at the clock and calculate how much time is left in the journey. A few minutes later, I repeat the same exercise. Rural darkness is like none other; it completely engulfs its surroundings. I know where I am, not because I see landmarks, but because I know how long I've been driving. Mercifully, it is over. My husband keeps driving to work, but I park and breathe a sigh of relief. I have arrived. Women start to trickle in. Swee

This weekend we picked out pumpkins and chrysanthemums for the front porch. Glancing over various shades and textures, I was so worried that the steady drizzle would become a downpour that I hardly took notice. My daughter was struck by the abundance the farmer's market had to offer. I was preoccupied with thoughts of getting out of the rain. Tinges of yellow and rust dot the skyline. The leaves are starting to fall. As creation prepares to hibernate, it erupts into a final array of glory; a memory to take with us into the months of short days and long nights. I drive by without giving it much thought, focused instead on whatever destination or task lies before me. As a child I carefully gathered leaves from the maple tree in our front yard, selecting various sizes and shades. Mama watched over my shoulder, gently guiding me as I pressed the iron over the sheets of wax paper to seal my treasures. I was in awe of the bright colors, how they burst forth in a blaze and suddenly vanish

It started with an email. A dear friend sent me a link to an article she thought I would enjoy. I opened it up, and my breath caught at the first lines. Here was beautiful prose, pointing me to Christ. In the matter of a few moments, I realized how much I missed blogging. Reading posts, and writing them. For much of the day, I pondered the place blogging had once held in my life, how easily I'd given it up, and how social media has generally been a stumbling block for me - giving too much time to it, placing too much importance on it, expecting too much recognition from it. When blogging seemed to be on its way out, I abandoned it for more popular, shorter bursts of communication. Both my brain and my spirit have felt the effects. I wonder about the neurological impact my smart phone has had on my brain.  I've noticed that my attention span has suffered. Trying to stem the tide, I installed safeguards: downtime and screen time features which have been extremely beneficial. I