Joy – quiet, beautiful joy, this elbow room of grace – falls into our month by waiting, and praying, and watching one another choose grace, and the assumption of positive intent.
Woe – how easily we offend.
But this morning, after he chooses grace, I choose to wait… while you, God of all questions, offer a picture:
Wait…at 7:00 it is still dark, though one can hear the geese.
@ 7:08, and 7:09 muddy, burnt clouds of orange frame the South Pass. They rise, as does the sun, and grasp the edges of night’s blanket.
Wait…
I wait, walking… and wonder about pink. But while my back is turned, bold light seriously shakes the clouds. Nevertheless, pinkless, I walk toward home content. There is light. There is beauty. A gebillionth day God has made something that he called good.
Wait…7:53 and suddenly the sky is streaked with pink. I go searching for more – at the windows up and down, but the glow remains saffron. Aaaah, burnished with time… but born in the fresh pink of grace. Thank you, God of longsuffering love, for grace applied.
jfig; somewhere on the journey of marital love
Roasted Words 