The sun came out timidly, first by the fingertips, then slowly baring its whole shy self.
We are a rather predictable sort of family. We look for nature wherever we can find it, moved perhaps instinctively toward every landscaping in medical complexes, outside of grocery stores, wherever we happen to be. We go down to the creek to do “nothing,” really just to be there. Sometimes we bring a picnic or a nature journal, a book or some whittling. But that ever-elusive "nothing" of the Christopher Robin variety is really what we're after.
We came here and found a dry creek, animal teeth, a relentless wind, and the harassment of ants and poison ivy. But we also found solitude and community all at once, endless objects of interest, and an expansiveness that really allows you to inhale with gusto.
Here we find our spirit's rest. Here we can be still and know that Yahweh is God. We can't help but gaze around in awe and wonder at what He's made, at what He's given to us, at the beauty He's constantly creating in the skies. This is precisely the antidote we needed for the season's hustle and bustle, for the constant pressure to "attend," "sign-up," and "join-in." It's such a pleasant way to opt-out for an hour at a time, to go get lost, and to find one's calm anew. It clears out the noise and makes more space for our coming joyful triumph, for those same deep inhales taken by shepherds and friendly beasts and angels alike, to rejoice in Christian community and proclaim the coming of Christ.
Sincerely,
Natasha
P.S. I just started Bright Evening Star by Madeleine L'Engle. What are you reading this holiday season?



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