Written on May 15, 2017.
Coming down our little hill, we happened upon Reepi across the way in a field of flowers, lens poised for the perfect shot. As we turned from our street, I looked back and identified which floret caused her arrested attention. Queen Anne’s Lace.
A smile smeared from heart to head as I recounted how many glasses, vases and scrapbooks it’s blooms and blossoms filled when my world was all littles. Anne’s design and decor began to fill arrangements when I realized that Mondays had become mundane instead of magnificent, Tuesdays tedious instead of terrific. We had a routine and rhythm for our days, yet I had lost the awe of my dailies. My wild wilderness no longer found me wide eyed, but weary.
Through a homeschool conference, a book happened my way. It was full of nutrient nuggets, but two impacted me the most. Always have your vacuum out and plugged in, so if someone stops by, it always seems that your cleaning was interrupted. It sounds silly, but a lot of guilt got swept up even if my floor didn’t. The second was “find a flower.”
And so began my mission from melancholy to marvelous. Our strolls and treks from that point on became dawdles instead of dashes, roams instead of runs and saunters instead of strides.
The reward for our rambles became a fancy flower, so intricate and inviting. All abloom, it beckoned and beguiled us to our knees. Beneath its umbrella, the kids would find ladybugs and roly polys which would lead them lower to their tummy tops. As they dug and delved, I would reside rapt and readied. For from my viewpoint, this purposed plant looked like an altar.
Silent and submitted, I would rumble down the road of how many times I had cried over spilled milk, faltered over fingerprints and maddened at messes. Then a breeze would catch the altar top, leaning it towards me. The nest of white was there, ready to receive my communion, not my complaint. The great villain of me had to take a knee. Because, giggles and glee. Delighted darlings with greater understanding than me, only remembered these majestic moments when I stopped, knelt down and allowed wonder to drop me in delight and delight to draw me to the apprehension of awe.
Knelt at the alter of His heart, I could offer every miss and mess. I didn’t have to be present in my imperfections, but in my perfecting. For the honing of my heart happens each and every time I pause in my lowest place and offer Him my highest praise. Messes only become monuments if I let them. Praise pulls brick and mortar, piece by piece and reveals the altar. The places He created to stop our raging and start our remembering. Image ignitions. Not just a Polaroid that we are His. No, a full length feature, a lingered life story that we are Him.
In a sphere that seeks its own way, maybe a people in an altered state can silence the foe. By simply singing the song of the redeemed. We are loved. We reveal that by living. From right where we are to right where we are going. Returning minute by moment.
Two little boys spent two little days with us while their wildflower sister was born. In those days I saw my altar now in the hands of two littles who love to pause for dandelions. It takes a bit for little breaths to become big wind and scatter every feather seed. And when none remain, their hands clutch the stem. And I remember what is really worth holding onto.
Chronicles: Journal a time when He took something from mediocre to majestic, simply because you yielded. You gave what could not bear fruit for that which would bring life.
Tabletop: Go on a flower find! Pick some Queen Anne’s Lace to make a bouquet. In the years we collected them, we would always add some food coloring to the water. Little by little the flower would turn the color of the water. It always reminded me that waiting is worth it!
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