Busy. No stop-and-smell-the-roses time. Activity swirling. Good things. Fun things. Flurries of excitement. Outbursts of thankfulness. But, battles, too. Violence against my heart by the enemy of my soul. Picking up what got shattered, fully aware I possess nothing that can fix it. Guarding the heart, o, guarding the heart. Lord, cover me, here, when so much is at stake, when despair comes near. Cover me.
One quick trip to the garden after a night rain. I pull a weed that has dared to become a squatter, surely believing I won’t be around anytime soon.
Breaking the surface releases instant joy. I smell earth. I inhale the black, rich scent of the slightly moist soil and recklessly plunge my hand into that from whence I came. I breathe it deeply for a second and linger for one more, my eyes closed with the sun warming the top of my very being. I have to leave. I have a meeting. The urgency that is propelling me, it suddenly becomes clear, will fade away. The time I spend with my Life in the garden must increase. I have found my place. Deep breath.
I am merely dust. I know my kind. It is where I belong.
google image But it looks a lot like what happened yesterday.
Note to self: The garden. Again. Where He always meets me. How could I forget?
1 thought on “The rush”
Hey, did I ever tell you that the dirt in Tennessee is red. It’s actually clay. Puts a different prospective on it.