For the Beauty of This Day

For the beauty of a bed tucked into a little raised niche, creating something between a bird's perch and a window seat;

for a casement window that swings wide open, removing the barrier between me and the seventy-five degree day;

for sun not yet behind the trees, gently warm spring sun;

for a bee that wandered in and back out again, probably not even aware he had left the great outdoors, sounding exactly like summer;

for the end of a Theo's bar, dark chocolate with sea salt, and a bottle filled with our fresh well water;

for a Bible open on the windowsill, a journal and pen in my hands;

for hunger for fellowship with the Lord, for desire holding sway in my heart and being satisfied.

Lord of all to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.

Could You Believe?

My path crossed that of a woman this weekend. I don't really know her; I only met her yesterday. She is separated from her abusive husband. She is hugely pregnant with their fourth child; their youngest turned one only last week. She is moving out of one transitional housing unit into another. I did not know what to say to her, how to connect. I heard myself echoing the Pharisee in Luke 18:11: "God, I thank you that I am not like other men"....not like this woman. I did not marry rashly, cling to a dangerous relationship, find myself dependent on others to provide basic care for my children. 


My instinct is to think maybe I could help this woman, but even that thought betrays my tendency to see myself as savior instead of fellow sheep. Peter reminds me "You -- you -- were like sheep going astray." (I Peter 2:25) Yes, me; I have this in common with all men, with this woman. 


Yet there is a transformation that has taken place in me, and I am no longer like all men. This morning a song was playing over and over in my head as I did the Monday cleaning, washing the sheets where she slept and vacuuming under the table where the children scattered crumbs. It is written from the believer to the searching, from the sheep in the fold to the lost one on the mountainside:

Could you believe if I really was like Him
If I lived all the words that I said
If for a change I would kneel down before you
And serve you instead
Could you believe?

(Twila Paris: Could You Believe)