numbering days.

"teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." ps. 90:12

for how vast and timeless you are,
i praise you,
exalt you,
lift you up.

for how you create, sustain, hold together,
i adore you...
...fearfully.


you're so vast,
so timeless,
so powerful,
so elusive yet ever-present.

you are a mystery.
i am in love with you.


how fast and furious is our time here...
but you know that.
how often it holds so much pain and disappointment...
but you know that, too.
all hidden in you, in your secret things.
all those secret God things.


and then there are all the little plain things of here.
foggy mornings, tea, naps, conversations, Larissa learning what a robin is!
and i learn to love all the you in the ordinary of living.
the little things...
you are there whispering your delight in us,
in the sweetness of existance.


how do we hold these things?
loosely,
and up to you...
for they are all mysterious;
the good and the bad.
mysteries hidden in the vast cloak of my God.


i cannot help but long for the day when you take off your cloak.
not so i can know any more about the mysteries hidden in it.
but really so i can see how shiny your face is.
to see what glory really is...

let my days be numbered... i cannot wait!

no need to stir.


today was the sort of day lunch had to be made on the fly. on days like these, i really appreciate what peanut butter and jelly has to offer... ease of assembly, on-hand ingredients... even with variety from which to choose, a little fruit, a little protein, a little starch, fits in a ziploc... i mean really, it's like the Zeus of lunch on the go, and today i proudly hailed it as such as i gathered and assembled.

until.
until i pulled out my natural jif.
my natural jif is a newbie in my kitchen cabinetry, but i've been impressed. an avid jif supporter through the years, of both crunchy and smooth, i've found the natural option to be just another jewel in jif's crown. it's tasty, and natural; two very happy things.
now, you must know, dear reader, that the peanut butter which stays in my house stays in a spot above my head in the cabinet. not far above my head, mind you, just a bit above my head. quirkily enough, it is just above my head enough so that each time i pull it down and it passes my eyes i read where it says "No Need To Stir". it catches my attention every time. do you have those things that you notice repeatedly? this is one of those to me. i think because it is such a funny proclamation. how often does someone or something specify "No Need To Stir"?
and then there's the oddity of no punctuation. and not just that, but each word begins with a capital letter. how funny. i wonder who decided that?

anyway, i realize that natural jif makes this proclamation precisely because other natural peanut butters most definitely Need To Be Stirred before use for consumption. it is one way in which natural jif is declaring that they are set apart from other natural peanut butters, and i must confess, i had secretly admired them even for this set apart-ness.
until.
until today.
when i opened my natural jif, it most definitely Needed To Be Stirred before use for consumption. most definitely. and i? i was disappointed.

upon reflection, i realize that i wasn't even disappointed in Needing To Stir. in fact, i don't think Needing To Stir in any way interrupted my afternoon, or caused any additional dirty silverware, or even took up much more time or concentration. i was disappointed that they had so deliberately taken the time to make such a non-punctuated, yet emphatic proclamation... only for it to not be the case in all situations. it gives me pause to question their validity in other claims. i'm not even sure what other claims jif makes necessarily, but the bottom line is, should i come up against some claim by jif, i would have to carefully consider my level of trust in said claim.
trust has been undermined.
all because they had to say "No Need To Stir".

that's all.

do not touch.

trains rock.
they really do. enough so that simple things like walking, drinking or writing are suddenly awkward... like you're a toddler again.


you go kind of fast. but not as fast as i would think it could (or should) go. fast enough, i suppose.
fast enough so that you see an awful lot of countryside as you pass by... but you cannot touch any of it. it's funny. it feels such an intimate thing with the landscape to travel it by train, and such an untouchable thing at the same time.


we pass people.
some men on a shipping dock at seven twenty five a.m., coffee in hand, smile and wave like they have forgotten they're all grown up. not waving at me, but waving at my world this hour... waving at this rocking train on which i'm trying to take a sip of my water.
later we pass a father and son by a creek... more avid waving... more big smiles.


we keep moving. beautiful mountains,
deep ravines,
quaint old train stations in little towns,
the horn blows,
the sunlight flickers on my paper and pen...
i get to see these places from such a unique vantage point...
i cannot touch any of it...


but somehow it touches me.


journey.


i got up before the sun
but today we shall travel together
the train horn in the distance
is to me a smile, a wink
we shall be together soon,
the train and i


on the train
on with coffee!
on with whispers to my God
of gratitude
of hope
of eternal things
of beauty
of loved ones
of love


the meandering through these mountains
seems to untangle things deep in my soul.

longing.

i am longing to dip my toes into a lake of the past. not my own past; but a past i have never known. a past consisting of golden light through old willow limbs, of hanging laundry, of tilling earth and of storing the harvest. a past of small white churches with bells that still ring out, of hard wooden pews and songs of glory sung.

things i long for the most in this Past are the light and the fields.
how odd; since these are the things which stand quite outside of past or present. none the less, i see the light as pouring forth in golden splendor, lighting the earth with a blazing intensity... and golden fields which stretch out, connecting the bottom of one green hill to the other.

i long to sit there, on the edge of a hill, by the willow, overlooking the field lit with fullest light... to watch the breeze bow low the heads of the wheat... beginning at one end of the field... and a quiet shush as it passes to the other end.

so then i ask what it is i think i want from this space? what is this longing made of?
pause.
glory. purity. holiness. quiet. peace.
what has He made? let me look only at that for a time, and nothing else.

i've sat out on the swing these beautiful mornings and read and written of him and to him. but each morning, and even through the days, i've heard him say "put that down... look out here..." and he points to the lines of the limbs of the mimosa tree through which i see the rolling curves of south mountain rise and fall. golden at the grassy base, then all different greens and blacks show me the curves of the woodland floor. the blue sky grows infinitely bluer as i follow it upward... and i see the moon, hiding with the thin clouds, leftover from the night before.

and he says "look at me... love me... please pause your reading and writing and moving... just look at me, and love me".


everything in me wants to do this.
so i long to step to another time and space so i could be free from things we've made.
things i've made.
things to be done.
but there is some holiness in those things too, i know.

but for today?
i shall only look.
and love.
 

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