Entering into His gates with thanksgiving this morning, and His courts with praise collected through the week. Reveling in rest and recuperation of the body emerging slow from illness, and from VanWinkle-like sleep!

 

The collection:

beauty through a winter window: snow-highlighted shrub grown tall

sitting with my bruised Bible, prayers within

a pen in hand that scribes smooth

 

sweet peach pie husband made and froze last fall, resurrected from the freezer

slightly sour pickle relish on a hot hamburger

just right, just perfect burger beef, fresh and lean, healthily grass-fed and local

 

three green graces in winter’s gray:

frosted multi-colored moss on rock

dipping branches of evergreens sheltering remnant green of grass

parsley peeking through the snow, still pluckable in January

 

slashing of sleet on window glass, underlining inside warmth

strong bong of a faithful clock, keeping hours near a century

off-key whistling, indicating contentment in the off-key whistler

 

hot cocoa on a cold day

 

Something above me, something below me, something beside, something beneath me: “Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus,” “the ocean of His love,” as “it lifts me up to glory… for it lifts me up to” God.

Grace in sickness:

needs all met by His love and care, coincidences and surprises

surprising quiet in the day, noisy outdoor work suspended, tires snow-muffled on the road.

comfort of warm flannel reaching to my toes

snuggly “spa jacket,” warming yet more in bed

 warm room, fluffy blankets, to sweat away a fever

freshness of sudden cool air, startling me awake on opening its morning door

cold swallows of icy orange juice in a dry throat

stars surprising at midnight rising, out a darkened pane

sleep — deep, repeating sleep, satisfying a body greedy for it

Nothing I can do but sleep; yet His love flows full, requires no noble works, no heroic performances, just trust and rest. Grace. All grace.

*****