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Marvelous…absolutely marvelous!

 

The other day, I jogged down a path lined with shrubs and small trees with branches that hang overhead, providing shade. I caught a whiff of honeysuckle and remembered stopping to pluck the blossom to place that drop of nectar on my tongue. On my way back I thought about stopping to do that, but I ran on home instead.

 

Today, however, I stopped. I was running strong, but when I came up to that honeysuckle, I stopped and pulled out my camera to take a picture and then plucked a blossom to see if I could find that sweet drop of nectar.

 

It didn’t taste as sweet as I remember from childhood, but I did stop to try. Maybe I need to only pluck the most yellow blooms?

Whisper blessings, yes, that is what I will do. I can still get by saying things out loud with my ten-year-old son. He loves it, welcomes it. Maybe if I do more of that now, then by the time he's 23, he'll act like he doesn't know what I'm doing when I squeeze the crown of his head and he has to be cool...but inside, we'll both know exactly what's happening

Oh, this made my day! So many of us got to be part of this post–everyone from Nancy as host, to Deidra as witness, and Ann V who inspired your gratitude journal that jogged the memory of the bike ride we get to join you on–a bike ride that reminds us to pull over and notice the golden Meadowlark who could so easily have been missed.

 

For you to add Not So Fast to this inspiring post, so I got to be a part, as well? Wow. Thank you.

 

I hope that we can meet someday, Michelle, so I can give you a huge hug and thank you in person for all you do. Through your gift of storytelling, you invite us into your life.

It doesn’t take that much to reach out in love and compassion, yet so many of us hold back, shy to get involved. Thank you for modeling a simple motherly gesture and letting us share that moment of connection–you met her eyes, and now we are gazing with love at you both, as well, sensing this impenetrable commonality.

I’ve never seen the Buechner quote before. Love this way of noticing where God may be summoning me to go next: Follow the tears.

Love. Hilarious, marvelous, creative love.

Love the descriptions here...and you have described a seismic shift in parenting with specificity and poignancy.

The shock, surprise, as all that is familiar dribbles away...

My parents rarely had people over, so I didn't know how to host. As a young adult, I was afraid to invite guests to my home because I had no experience. We lived in a small, simple home in a wealthy area, but a friend of mine who had been a missionary modeled that hospitality is not the same as entertaining.

  

I'll never forget the day she spontaneously invited me to stay for lunch after we had a short meeting in her home. She scrounged around in her kitchen for something to eat, but all she could find was a box of crackers, a tiny block of cheese and a small package of salami from one of those Christmas gift baskets. That, along with a few pieces of pumpernickel bread, was lunch. She prayed that the Lord would bless it and our time, and we ate it together with gratitude and joy. Oh, and she served.

  

That was one of the best meals I have ever had.

  

I told her years later that it sent such a powerful message to me about hospitality, and she said that as a missionary in Africa, she often had to host dignitaries and learned to just spread a tablecloth, set out the best dishes, and light a lot of candles...and no one ever seemed to mind the dust and cobwebs they didn't have time to whisk away. And being together--welcoming people with conversation, respect, joy and love--is the most important thing of all.

This is important to explore and to share--I hope that your excitement translates to fun and joy in your marriage, and that somehow it brings the two of your closer as he sees the way it fills you and affirms you and reaches a part of you that would otherwise lie dormant. As you are energized, I hope that your marriage is energized.

And...I'm glad to be connected in a small way by being part of one of our communities. :)

I am so thankful this morning, upon reading your story, Denise, for every faithful man and woman who shows up to do the tedious work in this world. I hope that they (including you) find meaning in it, as your father seemed to. In fact, I am thinking today of the tedious elements of my own life...I want to appreciate how those repetitive responsibilities fit into the big picture not as a burden but as an essential contribution.

  

Thank you for sharing your father's work, and your own. I hope you don't die of boredom today!

I am so thankful this morning, upon reading your story, Denise, for every faithful man and woman who shows up to do the tedious work in this world. I hope that they (including you) find meaning in it, as your father seemed to. In fact, I am thinking today of the tedious elements of my own life...I want to appreciate how those repetitive responsibilities fit into the big picture not as a burden but as an essential contribution.

  

Thank you for sharing your father's work, and your own. I hope you don't die of boredom today!

I think we each have to wrestle with it, and even when we reach a comfortable place that seems right and true, we'll probably have to wrestle with it again when our career takes a turn, whether an upturn or downturn.

Your grandfather is complicated, imperfect; and yet, you identify with him, wonder about him, and admire him in so many ways. And you've invited us to witness those moments of intimate connection with him as the priest's words murmur in the background…and you've let us peek at the art, the jazz, the books. Thank you for this. You didn't oversimplify the moment or the man. You painted with words that intersection of his life and yours...at the end of his, toward the beginning of yours.

Your piece brings to mind a quote from Thomas Lynch: “Witness and keep track. That's the basic work of writers.” You bear witness here to a holy moment.

Well, don't you know how to just reach through the screen and touch a person's heart! Of course, and that is the point. You're a gift, you know that?

I sit in hushed, holy silence after reading this. All I can think to say is...amen.

Wonderful post. Shall we meet for tea? Under the pergola your dad's going to build? 

Love!!

  

I'm pinning this to my "slow-down" Pinterest board and tweeting, because you are a delight, living it out in the day-to-day.

The work of magic...or the magic of work. And the magic of sharing my self with readers.

  

This post is, itself, magic...as are you, Billy.