I miss chatting with you, the easy sense of relationship we've cultivated, and the fun of capturing moments of the gift of life in words and photographs.
I miss your comments (however few - each one is precious and a blessing to me).
I miss the practice of writing and organizing thoughts, experiences, and common threads into a whole with the self imposed and often missed mark of 500 words - give or take.
Remember, at the outset, I didn't present any lofty goals and specific plans for personal development or spiritual growth for Lent. I was quietly prompted by the Holy Spirit to put this place way down on the priority, time, and attention list. So I did.
Last Monday, I had eleventy billion potential posts rattling in my brain - and not even 11 nano seconds to write it down and make my list of gifts to share over at Ann's. I'm confused. Shouldn't I have more time?
But, you know it. So do I. A vacuum in this every day hymn of moments, opportunities, demands, temptations, and racing second hands on the clock doesn't stay empty.
Monday. Wednesday. It doesn't matter. What matters is that the point of pen on paper carries on and the list is never abandoned - even if there isn't the stolen slice of time to build community with thanks givers, list cultivators, Christ followers.
So, I come to it late. Sort of. I've been a keeper of the kitchen this week. We've been given several opportunities to savor being home, and I've enjoyed cultivating a richer sense of this by bringing beauty and feasting of all sorts to the family table.
As I chop, I hear the rhythm. Stanzas of thanks making their melody in my heart:
Weekend Farmer Husband and Firstborn son, chatting long and easily on the telephone.
Mutual respect growing between father and son, sharing adulthood now.
Pandora streaming in the living room - Bach lending glory to the sound waves, strings making my heart soar.
Rich yeasty bread ready to serve. It's heartiness and nutty sweetness beckons us with it's fragrance.
And we gather, yet again, to break bread and share what we learned today with Weekend Farmer Husband.
Safe return for Weekend Farmer Husband who worked late and traveled far.
First Lord's Day, receiving, tasting, dimly seeing His body broken for me.
Saturated color, sharp fragrance, and daughters helping brings joy to the cyclical nature of kitchen work.
Psalm 127 - "Children are an inheritance from the Lord". Enjoying the heritage I've been given.
Polka dots - I never tire of them!
Sisters surveying their handiwork and declaring it "good".
Spicy, clean fragrance filling the home.
Windows thrown open - wind carrying the earthy smell of spring into the house while lemon, rosemary, and vanilla bubble gently on the stove.
Bike tires getting pumped up and children in shorts riding wild and free up and down the driveway, winter white legs bending a little too far - we've grown. Time to adjust the seats.
Already well into celebrating a birthday. We started early.
Lighting and re-lighting candles so mommy could get a good picture of blowing...sweet patience.
Pineapple upside down cake. First time success!
Root beer floats - the perfect dessert.
Finally, the gift of time, I need not be overly mindful of what day of the week it is. Because gratitude - this work of cultivating a list - is a holy work and it's essence will draw me to the cross, a resurrected Savior, and that has never been dependent on linking up "on time".