Treasure Valley Prays

God’s Care in the Ordinary

two hummingbirds

Things that seem ordinary or small but on further reflection are signs of God's care.

  • Three miniscule hummingbirds, iridescent green, alighting on the purple butterfly bush in my backyard. They have traveled thousands of miles to give me this moment of awe.
  • The tiny fur ball puppy my friend adopted just before her father died of COVID. It prances about her yard, totters on hind legs to stand twelve-inches high, and falls asleep across her neck. A reminder grief cannot extinguish joy.
  • The breeze that finds its way into my living room window on a sweltering August day and lifts the damp hair from my neck.
  • The moist, dark shade of an ugly, volunteer bush—now a full-blown tree—that creates a sanctuary on the grass.
  • The ebullient yellow sunflowers my husband gave me for our anniversary. After fresh water, they lift their heavy heads.
  • The hellos, good mornings, and thank you’s of walkers, runners, and bikers as I step aside on the hiking trail to create six-feet of distance.
  • The hawk, silent and watchful, perched high in our aspen tree while my husband and I sip coffee on the patio.
  • My husband’s response when I ask him about his first day of teaching online school; he wanted to reach through the computer and hug every one of those kids.
  • The tangle of sleek, purple eggplants, worthy of the name aubergine, growing in my friend’s new planter box.
  • The bird who flew into our window, landed stunned on the front stoop, and flew away just as the cat approached with his new bell and collar.
  • The violet blue and white pansies I planted in pots when the pandemic began in March. Still blooming in August.
  • My artist friend, who lost two of her three jobs because of quarantine, and smiles each week as she leads me and others in a yoga class on ZOOM.
  • The letter that arrived in my mailbox this week addressed to me in GIANT, HAND-SCRAWLED LETTERS, a note of encouragement from a friend.
  • That same friend inviting me to spend the afternoon beside her pool with a glass of lemonade.
  • Afterwards I no longer remember why I felt sad. 
  • The neighbors’ apple tree that every summer unloads its fruit upon our lawn to keep the squirrels happy and fed.
  • The giant black and yellow bumblebee that hums among the lavender, spreading the fruits of Creation and keeping me company as I pull weeds.
Picture of Susan Bruns Rowe

Susan Bruns Rowe

Member of Immanuel Lutheran Church
Boise, ID

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