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.
Susan Bruns Rowe
Member of Immanuel Lutheran Church
Boise, ID
This Post Has 3 Comments
It’s the simple things in life that can give us the most joy. The trick is that we have to take the time to open our eyes and see. Thank you for letting me “see” through your words.
Keeping our senses alive & our gratitude ongoing will get us through these days. Thanks for sharing your joys.
Thanks Susan. Loved this.