Picture This

I had grown used to visiting this secret place each day at work. A place special only to me, my corner of peace, a sanctuary when a phone call went bad, a deadline loomed and sluggish brain needed a jump-start. When pain fired hot and spirit sagged low, a moment's rest from turmoil I craved. I read a few years ago in a research study, that simply looking at a loved one in a photograph eases pain receptor in brain by forty percent. I brought a digital photo frame to work.

It is therapy this scanning of photography.

Subtle it is, this lifting of the corners of mouth, ever so slightly. Shoulders release tight grip.

It changes things, this gazing, sour tones quickly transform into light notes, a beacon for those who surround us.

 

And when flash drive failed after using Walgreen's photo computer, I said thank you to co-worker who possessed talent to fix and now I can behold once again and practice those grateful breaths.

 

This ride we are taking, us all, it helps ease the pain, the uncertainty, to pause in that place that is yours alone. Breathe it in, this great grace that says I-am-here-right-now-and-I-always-know-exactly-what-you-need, even when the ride goes unsteady and you tumble and fall. I will pick you back up.

 

And I look at scenes, at snaphots, moments in this life. It comes once again, His grace-tipped arrow, it pierces the heart, this love that conquers all, and I quiver unsteady.

And I come across words that lends voice to this flutter inside. There on the mountain top, there in the everyday and the mundane, there in the sorrow and the dancing. His great grace, and I breathe it in, all over again, yesterday forgotten, this moment, this now, cupped in exalted grace. 

 

Joy is that deep settled confidence that God is in control of every area of my life.

~Paul Sailmamer~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Games We Play

The game, it started same as always. Brown-haired toddler urged me on, to come, to "look and see." I followed his elfin body into bedroom. He sat on his knees, pat carpeted floor with dimpled hand, and beckoned, "down here, Grandma, down here." I knelt beside this tiny boy, pointed my gaze out the door, readied myself for the hunt. "I see a TREE!" He began, brown eyes ablaze, and I followed the direction of his pointer finger, cherry tree, the closest one in our view. "And I see leaves dancing in the breeze," I said, rewarded with a grinning face, cookie crumbs adorning corners of his mouth.  And I see your innocence. Unhindered by blond-haired boy who slid between sheer curtains like he was practicing a curtain call for America Idol, we continued on. "I see an AIRPLANE!" Flying high in baby blue October sky, airplane with its smoky trail whisked above and we craned our necks, edging around brother to watch last exhaust marks penning the sky. My achy joints forced me to switch positions, and I lay on my back, looking out glass, watching world upside down in this room with a view.  Immediately, toddler boy joined me. "I'm UPSIDE DOWN!" He rejoiced, lifting his chin toward white ceiling, tilting head back far as possible, scanning yard outside. "I see LEAVES!"  Soon brother lay down too, joined us in our upside-down-world play. "I see the sun," I announced, showing them a patch of hazy light poking through tree branches. "I see it TOO," they cried out in unison. Maybe we three enjoyed this new  world, a fresh perspective, unedited, this freedom to turn it all upside down. When government shuts down, another photo of a Kardashian stares back at you on MSN page, and isn't it better to steal a moment, turn it all off, flip yourself around and watch patches of light glimmering through tree branches? In the words of Leon Henri Marie Bloy, "Joy is the most infallible sign of the presence of God." I see pure joy when your twin eyes discover novel territory. And you said come here, sit, and I did , and we played our game, and the light, it streamed through glass, and the green leaves they wiggled and danced all free, all beauty. Such grace. I looked out the smudged glass, gaze scanning back yard with its rubber balls and toy cars. Breathing in His grace I stood and tripped over stuffed raccoon. Breathing out His praise.

"I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."

And the light, it stretched past cherry tree, gloving us three, all radiant in its permission, its freedom, its never-ending Grace.