A Gift of Ordinary. A Day of Respite.

Gerry rises and takes Maya outside to tend to some early morning business, and sees it. I’ve been up for a couple of dark hours so couldn’t tell that the tops of the hills were white as if dusted with confectioners sugar, but now I can. I’m delighted as we watch white fall from the sky. It won’t last. The first one never does. But this first snowfall of the season makes me dance a silly jig.

Laurinda and I talk (and laugh!) about hygge season being upon us. I think about pulling out my bamboo knitting needles and starting a project. I put a pumpkin pie scented candle on my writing desk. I eye the Woodwick candle on the fireplace mantle.

Gerry and I get dressed for church. Hear that? Get. Dressed. For. Church. It’s like the old days—B.C.: Before COVID—when he sticks his head around the corner and asks about clothing choice. We worship in person, in a building, with a small group of people, and afterward share conversation and laughter and, man, it is so, so good.

We stop at a store on the way home and decide to come back tomorrow. One of the gifts of being retired is shopping at non-peak times. As we drive up the hill toward home I’m struck with the sweet Sunday afternoon feeling that lingers in the recesses of my memory.

We arrive home and change out of our “church clothes”. I pull something out of the fridge for lunch while Gerry sets up the chessboard. It feels like the good old days before the pandemic changed everything.

After lunch I make tea and we attend a beautiful wedding from the comfort of our den. I magically sync my phone with our smart TV and there it is, big as life. A man and a woman reading vows to one another, and there is hope. All the chaos in the world falls away, and there is just love.

The day hums along, the cacophony forgotten, and there is only peace as I bake bread and pull out flannel from my fabric stash for a special project. We talk about something special we’re planning to do soon and there is sweet anticipation. I had almost forgotten what that feels like.

This simple day, fat with worship and laughter and love and ordinary things I’ve missed so much, is balm.

And I’m so, so grateful for the respite and the laughter and the love and the ordinariness in every moment of it.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. Beautiful, Linda. Reading this brings me a sense of hope, too.

  2. Your words have sprinkled hope on my morning just as your treetops were sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar yesterday morning. 🙂

  3. My writer friend from northern Vermont posted a sprinkling of snow as you describe on her Facebook page a few days ago.

    Yes, we too put on church clothes and attended a service yesterday. There were temperature checks, masks required, and social distancing, but I enjoyed the worshipful atmosphere with pipe organ and shafts of stained glass.

    Today I practiced “hygge” by planting flowers that my daughter insists will resist being eaten by deer in our preserve: snapdragons and marigolds. Lovely post, Linda!

  4. Our balms are so refreshing to the spirit! Thanks for this glimpse into your day full of presence and blessing.

  5. I love the first snow. We haven’t had any yet but there was quite a bit of it not too far north of us. Ordinary is so underrated.

    1. Ordinary is, indeed, is underrated and yet it is the stuff of life. The p,ace where wonder is found when we look for it. Thank you for stopping by and leaving a comment. The name of your blog—A Spirit of Simplicity—tells me we are kindreds.

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