I wake with a reminder dancing in my mind. Think about the true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, and admirable things. The better things. The best things. And I think the Divine has whispered to me in the liminal space between sleep and waking.
Low cloud hovers in the valley. There is no sunrise, just a gradual fading of the dark. I think of the garden drinking, the forests being saturated, and settle in to the quiet comfort of a rainy day.
I am baptized when I step out onto the deck to take a photo of the gray. The patter of steady rain hitting the ground offers praise. This is church, sure as anything, in this still moment when I stand in the rain.
We will listen to spoken words this morning, broadcast like magic from a Facebook feed to our big screen TV. Church of another flavour happening right there in our den.
We will, I suspect, escape into books this afternoon. Maybe put a few more pieces in the jigsaw puzzle and play a game of chess. Do the thing I once dreamed of having time for: inhabit home.
In a few minutes I will set this device aside, pick up my holy book and read scripture. I will pray. As the morning grows lighter and the rain still falls and peace flows like a river.
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Lilac cuttings on the dining table.
New white sheer curtains.
An early dinner. A dish from my childhood. Comfort food.
A good book with a plot I can’t (don’t want to) tear myself away from.
A succulent garden on the kitchen windowsill.