[month of mornings] 19 :: stories

[peeping glory]

7:34 am

Every morning has its own story. We usually let each other in on them too... busy morning, rough mornings, lazy morning, crazy morning. But it has been a discovery to me to see how holding a camera in my hands or over my shoulder has begun to help me notice many more details than just the way the activity of the hours flowed.

There are all the varied flowers and the particular way they are placed on a hillside, or pushing their way through stones or man laid bricks, the way the light hits them or the dew has sprinkled them with a mist. I see colors, even if it is just the shades of gray in a stormy sky and the way the white foam of the sea stands out so brilliantly like a big milk moustache painting the lip of the sandy shore. 

And the people, oh the people in all their array of activities and accessories that shroud or perhaps even begin to tell a part of the stories that are hidden behind their eyes... the joys or sorrows they have known this day, this week, in the history that has brought them here. And beyond that, the simple things that make a neighborhood, a city, a country be all that it is in its beauty and thriving way of life, in its flaws and misplaced assumptions. 

It is almost staggering how much there is to really see on any given day. And of course, it always begins and ends right here, where my own little stories happen, which on this day included a morning glory and a girl wanting to dress like her brother who wanted to dress like his dad. 

[for you]

7:53 am

[where did that bug go]

7:54 am

[month of mornings] 18 :: color speak

[lined up]

7:46 am

On my morning stroll home with the little Scout, who was living up to her name in full force by the way with her, "THIS way... no THIS way..." one thing seemed to just lead to another. First there was this scene... cars lined up and stretching down the road, beside lines of trees and people gathering at the bus stop and a woman in her shaded hat, pulling weeds. 

[cut off]

7:59 am

and then up the hill a little ways, in the dew kissed grass was this old soul, feeling a little forlorn and lonely, reminding me of the character in The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. I was hoping no one ran off with his trunk to build themselves a boat, but here in China you never know.

[expressed]

8:52 am

And then we came home and rested at the kitchen table, snacking on coffee remains and ripened bananas, and I gazed at this little corner in the room, full of color and it seemed in particular today, full of the colors of the morning. There was even the little sun someone drew, to fit the theme!

It's funny how sometimes the littlest things like lines and color themes can just make you smile and enjoy the many wonders of the world, big and small.

[month of mornings] 18 :: morning meditations

[meditations]

9:09 am

[month of mornings] 17 :: saturday duty

[duties]

8:19 am

[month of mornings] 16 :: too wet to stay in

[beach comber]

7:39 am

[gritty]

7:46 am

Was that me, wallowing some time ago about not having a backyard and gardens and such? Who was that person, that took for granted this beautiful stretch of sand and rock and salty water right at the tip of her toes?

I will admit, it's not always in my nature to say yes to beach play on the way home from the bus stop, but sometimes I just tell myself it's okay, just embrace the sandy feet and insides of your shorts and know it will all wash off, as will your floors in just a few minutes. 

 I try to tell myself, as I watch the earth worms wriggling in delight instead of baking on the pavement, and see the green leaves drinking in their refreshment, that the earth I eat from and the beauty that sustains me is dependent on this rain. It may hinder some plans, and dampen my clothes, but I won't wish it away to Spain or any other place but here. 

And this little Scout of mine, she just loves the water-- coming from the sky, crashing in from the horizon, pouring out of spickets and hoses and faucets and buckets. So this rainy day... it's a perfect day to play.

[drink it in]

7:56 am

[month of mornings] 15 :: piles

[dish piles]

6:37 am

[dirt piles]

8:20 am

[month of mornings] 14 :: seeing for real

[glory]

7:40 am

When I was a kid, like anyone who had been raised on picture book Bibles, I would see that moment when the light breaks through a crack in the clouds and streams down as though angels were riding on its beams, and would think it must meant that Jesus was returning at that very moment.

Time, and a little maturity made those moments lose a bit of their heart palpitating excitement, but the wonder remains. And even if I can't see Him, there are moments when the veil lifts and even in the darkness, a little light beams through. My own children looked way up at the sky this morning and repeated my childhood cries, "God is here!!" They too will learn, I hope, that indeed He is.

C.S. Lewis says that those moments when we are hit with a sense of longing that is almost painful because it is a fleeting joy, one we want to grasp but feel it forever fleeing, is that Real Joy that we were made for, but only catch in glimpses now. Glory glimpses.

These cloud breakthroughs, they may not mean I see the angels I once expected as a child gazing in wonder, but they do mean I see what becomes more and more real even as my childhood slips further and further away. Glory. It was here in the beginning, it shines even now, and it is coming again.