*For the next month, I will be doing something a bit different. In addition to my usual Sunday posts, I will also be posting journal entries every Thursday, chronicling our extended move. I hope you enjoy having a peek into my not so everyday life.*
When I seem to settle, sorrow sends shock waves into my being. My body aches become deeper. Exhaustion hits harder. Just when I long for comfort, my world revolts. I am soon reassured that there has to be more.
I make my way to my open window and look out at the fresh grass and newly planted corn swaying in the field. The pond water ripples as frogs croak beneath the brush. New flowers leap up from the mulch, making an excited debut. A cool hush is over the earth, and I wonder at how creation can be so graceful, yet so yearning.
When I lean closer, I see the hills furrow in frustration at the week-long drought. The flowers fight the clutches of weeds and thorns only to face to sun’s scorn. Year after year, the waters revolt in overwhelming floods. The calm over the expanse only serves to cover creation’s longing cries.
Yes, the marks of the fall are clearly seen, yet, somehow, the earth continues to flourish. Still, God waters the ground and causes the sun to shine and the buds to pop up from garden beds. A subtle longing for newness is combined with a forceful fight for life. The earth is not as intended, yet is blossoming here, in the waiting.
The earth’s new buds seem to contrast creation’s unspoken, often unseen longing for restoration. But both are gentle whispers of life-for now and forever. Here, even among the brokenness, we can breath in the goodness of God, embracing the gift of life now and hoping in the abundant life we have ahead.