In The Park

The sun is shining and birds are singing. It’s early, but wise ones have already come to walk in this park. Some are in pairs, many more walk in solitude. They are taking good care of both their physical and mental selves.

Me, I sit in my car. I’m waiting to pick Maya up from the groomer and I’ve got a chapter of my book-in-progress and a red pen in my hand. I’m pondering the word and the truth of living as one who is beloved.

The text message telling me Maya is ready to be picked up comes too soon. I feel as if I just dipped my toe in the sweetest spring and am pulled back before I can get all in.

But I paper clip the pages together, and tuck them back in my bag, and head out while the word beloved lingers in my thoughts. I think that I will come back here the following day to write and walk and ruminate. I think that I will form a new habit.

Sometimes I look at the gray sky from my window on the ridge where we live and forget that there’s something else in the valley. I look only at what’s in front of me and forget that there’s something entirely different just down the road and around the corner, and if I don’t intentionally go toward it I will miss it.

I think of what this means in light of living as one who is beloved, and I set an intention.

Word wrangler. Photo taker. I'm here early most mornings with one of my photos and a few words about life and those thin places where faith intersects.

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