Last evening our daughter came running into the house. “Mom, Dad! Come look!” We went outside to find thousands (it must have been!) of birds lining the electric wires for as far as we could see.
I watched my daughter’s face in between snapping pictures. There is something incredible about the way birds migrate, in the way they travel in huge flocks across miles and miles. Her eyes sparkled as she finished her chores, glancing over her shoulder to laugh at the chattering birds.
Later we went for a walk through the back field. The sun was glittering off the edges of the grass, glowing the mustard into stalks of gold, shimmering through branches and swirling patterns into the edges of the sky. Continue reading
Can you tell what this is? Oh, yes. It’s that time in our household.
Time to drag out receipts and the adding machine and my long-lost banking skills.
Time for my dishes to set in my sink, unwashed. (But doesn’t this style of photo make them look… well, not quite as bad as they are?)
time for my hair to fuzz and my eyes to get bloodshot and stress-pimples to grace my forehead.
Time for my husband to call me from the barn and say,
“Take a break, Hon, and go look at the moon.”
Time for me to stand in awe of a God who crafts wonder into night skies,
who gives me grace when I am stressed,
who offers beauty in the midst of everyday life.