We gather pens and notebooks and sit facing each other Indian style on the red couch. I have my inkjoy (the marketing has clearly clenched me…just the name was enough) and she has her purple gel pen and we carve meanings in the shapes of letters.
My Daddy loves me. My mommy loves me. Nana loves me…She scrawls on and on in the joy of affirmation. Words that are eternally present on her heart illuminate the page.
I settle in and just write the moment,(the quiet, the sun through the window catching the gold of her hair), when she says, “Do you like my spaces, mom? Brianna forgets to make spaces with her words. But, it’s the spaces that help us read.”
Ahhhhh, it is the spaces that help us to read.
And this is what I so often forget: I need spaces.
I need spaces of time between the slam of life in order to read what it says.
In the rush of life, I so often forget to breathe. Am I the only one? But it is in the spaces that I count the joy and breathe it in.
In the spaces, I listen to the wind, the Pneuma breath, and drop my haggard-making agenda…
and am here with the present I AM.
And He is the One who gives me ears to hear the steady affirmation of love He sings over me.
The Lord your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing.”
I am counting joys with Ann Voskamp over at www.aholyexperience.com
warm sand to sink toes into
watching the sailboats play
puddle jumping at the lighthouse
a town perfumed in roses and suntan lotion
quiet place early in the morning…and He is kind to meet me there
friends and grilled hamburgers and watermelon and kids running through the sprinkler
family field trip to Sarrett Nature Center, snapping turtle sunning