Brushstrokes Of Grace

I look at the picture, this enlarged canvas hanging in our living room right by the front door, hard to miss and I scan the details every day. The smiles on the faces of those I cherish, the kids, arms entwined around each other, as if they invented the group hug. I love, love the way it captures the essence of our family, unique, joyful, loved. And I pause once again to enjoy this memory, and it catches my eye, slips in this fresh vision, and my thoughts, they spool back to that rainy day in November, the day the clouds poured down more than that famous Oregon rain.

It was a cold day. A rainy, gray, November day. Not the most desirable day to gather for a family photo shoot. It was a Christmas gift from our daughter, this chance to all be together, to gather in front of the camera and with part of the family living in Virginia, the memories would taste sweeter, a completeness filling the frame.

A hint of trepidation snaked up my spine before we set out. How will my back manage the standing? Will it rain super-hard? Will the kids behave?And how about my hair! We donned our jackets and retrieved numerous umbrellas from our cars. And before each photo spot, we slipped off our jackets, smiled wide, then quickly pulled our jackets back on. The air tasted frigid cold, the rain dampened our shoes, parts of clothing, messed with the hair and we kept smiling, us enjoying all this love, these precious captured moments. The rain stilled at times, slices of heaven gifted our way. The photographer, a friend, brought gummy bears as bribes for the kids, and they downed those gummies all blissful and smiley face happy with each click, click. This Christmas gift, it came wrapped differently, and like most uniquely boxed presents, we unwrapped these layers of love and joy, one rain drop, one flip of the umbrella, one gummy bear at a time.

Today when I study the picture on the wall, my eyes, they spot a patch of light dancing on tree branches, illuminating those lime green leaves, how it shines brighter in that area above our unsuspecting heads. Shimmers even.  And I think back to that man who ambled over to the fire-pit just beyond this very last shoot of ours. The chairs that surrounded the freshly lit crackling fire, the delicious warmth for our chilly frames. My gaze, it fixes once again at that light projected on those thinning leaves. Maybe God is simpler than I think He is. He met us all right grand that wet day in November. Brushstrokes of grace, this beautiful light that never extinguishes, never dims, especially on the rainiest of days.