There is a wonderful quiet that happens after the 3:00 bell, when I sit at my desk grading papers. A few days ago I had the windows open, and during that half an hour after school I smelled the rain and heard sheep bleating from the vo-ag field across the way.
Maybe you’re a country girl, and you’re like, So?
But I’m more of a book-reading city mouse (did you read that book growing up?), so hearing the baaaaaa of sheep is just cool. I may have pretended my windows looked out to the lush hills of Ireland or something ridiculous like that.
Anyway, I’ve been loading my cannon with heavy words about grief these days, and I think you may all run for cover if I don’t say something cheerful. So my point today is that there is something cheerful to be experienced, if we keep the windows open. The windows of the soul, ya know?
The shocking inner life of the Christian is that we are expected to know a depth of pain that fills us with compassion and, at the same time, a height of thankfulness that fills us with joy.
So I sob when I miss my dad and when I hear of a tragedy someone else is facing. And then…
Really, I just wanted to forget grading papers and run barefoot over to the pasture, my skirt flying in the wind… (This is what goes on inside my brain.)
Like a vanilla/chocolate twist cone.
And there can’t be the one without the other.
So let me ask you –what pleasant gift from God have you heard through the window this week?
“Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights…” (James 1:17 NASB)