Powerless

Where to begin? The laundry is drying on the line. Rosie and Abby are doing their part to turn the compost. The bees are busy. The day began with prayer and writing, preparing Carl's lunch, exercising, then more prayer, some tears, and two phone calls.

Congo is calling. David Kasali has invited me to come to UCBC and work there. The invitation came as a surprise several weeks ago during the USA Board meeting of Congo Initiative. For the past four weeks the request has marinated in my head and heart. But this entry isn't about all of that. It's about the lessons of this morning.Vulnerability. Powerlessness. Quiet Confidence.

Several years ago I had the privilege of learning a lesson that has served me well: When I admit my weaknesses, I know the greatest strength. That strength usually manifests itself through people as God uses family, friends, acquaintances, and even strangers to meet needs in sometimes surprising ways. Almost every time I ask someone for help, I am blessed with sufficiency and surprise. ...

Gentle into the night

The bees have come home to the hive for the night. Dozens of them (guard bees?) cluster at the entrance. I like to think they are keeping sentry, but I haven't checked the books to confirm this notion. Rosie and Abby, the chickens, are perched on their roost. A mockingbird calls out from the telephone pole, and the fireflies float, calling silently with their tiny bursts of light. It's a gentle ending to a full day.

The gift of the evening was sitting with Dad on the edge of his bed, lightly rubbing his back as he tried to brush away the cobwebs of confusion.

He had, as is the course of his day, spent his day sleeping. I had called at 4:45, just before his dinnertime, offering to come by and visit. But he was too confused to make a decision. He had been sleeping. He could only manage to think about going down for dinner. We agreed he would call me after dinner.

He forgot to call. ...

Thunderstorm

Thunderstorm this morning. Sheets of rain.

Thunder echoes and rolls across the soundscape. First behind me, then in front. High overhead it drones.

I love the sounds of rain. Tap-tapping on the gutters. Skittering on patio and pavement.

The wash of rain cascades across the summer vegetation of trees and shrubs and plants. A chorus of sound. A chorus of wet and damp and lush.

Rainy days in summer are my forced time-out. And I need time-outs from the busyness that claims the days.

Today's rain drives me to still. To wait out. To site here on the screen porch and listen.