Monday, July 13, 2015

This morning

This morning, I don't care about the Confederate flag.  Or that the fleur-di-lis is now being investigated as a potential symbol of racism.  I don't care that the umpteenth Republican has thrown his hat or her scarf into the ring.  I'm not concerned about Greece's debt or  which food group Ariana Grande is going to lick with her careless tongue.

I do care about the little four-year-old from down the road who got tangled up with a bulldozer this past weekend and is now hospitalized and struggling through the pain of recovery.  My thoughts have traveled this July morning to many people I know who are personally waging battles against injury, disease, or grief or those who are hunkered down in the bunkers on behalf of those in the thick of the battle.  This morning, those who I am close to on a daily basis or those who I tend at a distance, or even through social media, are on my mind.  They are in my heart as I ponder my own way through life's journey on the roadbed of God's plan.

I covet, on their behalf, the blessings that await them just around the next sharp corner.

At the same time, I always try to remain mindful of the simple pleasures of life that surround and envelop me:  the amazing greens of this summer landscape; the piercing blue sky, finger-smudged by clouds; the insistent and incessant buzz and rattle of July flies.  Even the dream-induced whimpers of two, lazy black cats, stretched out on the shady floor of the screened-in porch.  I even try to find pleasure in heat so humid and thick it permeates the rich bottom soil of the old homeplace, then arises to be stirred and lifted by the occasional breeze, prompting that full, fertile smell to wing its way into my senses.

And I see that life is good.

Life is good because it is life.  I think the parents of that little cast-imprisoned four-year-old would tell us, as bad as it is today and with a long road ahead, life is good because their son lives.

In all the current divisiveness that infects us like a mental and emotional plague - like a germ for which there is no antibiotic -  we must step away for just a minute and be thankful for a heart that beats strongly every second or so, for the ability to breathe the next  breath, for eyes that can choose to see the beauty, ears that can choose to hear the blessings, and mouths that can choose to sing the glory and speak the good news.

This morning, I choose no flag, I claim no politics, I have no soapbox, and  commit to nothing more than the commandment to love my neighbor as myself.  This morning, I give my heart to all who need it in a way that is good and kind.  This morning, I share a smile.

If anyone needs anything else...check with me tomorrow.


  1. This is what you hear when you sit quietly by a stream.

    1. Thank you, Kim. I appreciate your kind words and sharing my blog. Hope all is well.

  2. After having to make the difficult decision to have our cat, Henry, euthanized this afternoon, your writing gives me comfort. Thanks, Doug.