A Slice of Time and An Answered Prayer

You enter the extraordinary by way of the ordinary.

Frederick Buechner

I step out of the bathroom, still warm, and maybe slightly damp, from the shower. My mind is on the day ahead, and words—always words. On auto-pilot, I walk toward my dresser. (It’s a chiffonier. It will always be a chiffonier to me, but does anyone still use that word?)

Our bedroom looks out over a ridge. From the large picture window, adjacent to out king-sized bed, we are witness to a kaleidoscope of hills and hoodoos, that changes with the seasons and the light, on the other side of the valley. I begin each day sitting in bed, sipping coffee, and praying, as  my eyes rest on the view. On these hills, I see the first dusting of snow, the sweet early green of spring, and, last summer, the ravages of forest fire.  The company of the view has become a comfortable, old friend that causes me to lift my heart in gratitude to the Creator of such splendour.

Anyway, on this morning, I’m on my way to the chiffonier to put my pajamas away, when my eyes are drawn to the picture window and I stop. I let out an involuntary gasp.

The morning light is magical as it dances on the craggy hills. I haven’t seen anything like it before—there’s just something different about the colour, and the shadows, this morning. I walk closer to the window. I stand for a while—just looking, and offering up prayer.

It only lasts for a moment, but it feels like much longer. It happens that way when we stand still. By the time I turn away, tuck my pajamas in my dresser drawer, and turn back to the window, it’s gone. The magic has moved on.

It’s not until late afternoon, when I’m back in the bedroom hanging up a sweater in the closet, that I think about that magical moment, remember a prayer I had whispered earlier in the morning, and realize that, in that slice of time when I was standing in awe at the window, God was answering my prayer and standing there with me.

Note: while these images reflect the view I am privileged to enjoy every morning, they do not illustrate the magic of the morning I’ve written about here. Still, they are pretty amazing in my eyes.

Word wrangler. Photo taker. I'm here early every morning with one of my photos and a few simple words. | Nulla dies sine linea: not a day without a line. | Coram Deo: in God's presence

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