Beloved:
Most all the leaves are down now. On sunny mornings light glints off the the cars in the junkyard beyond our woods. But not today. The woods are wet and the scent of summer’s decay is strong.
The house cat and the puppy are both complaining mightily. Simba because it’s raining outside every door I open for him. Scout because I won’t let her out at all. The cat cleans up before coming back inside. Scout just muddies up the floors and furniture. You’d think I beat her the way she’s crying.
Ignoring them to soak in the perfection of this hour takes more effort than it ought. I want to note the newness of fall, how the rain is different when the leaves are down, softer and more distant. Instead of swishy and full, the wind sounds creaky and slow.
I fail. Scout is driving me crazy so I let her onto the deck. She’ll be soaked but not muddy unless she digs in my flower pots again. Then I’ll hose her down and shut her in the laundry room for the day. I need to remember this is her first autumn. The leaves and the smell are brand new to her.
By the time I start another sentence she wants back inside. Now she’s rubbing herself dry on the rug. I sigh and try again to focus long enough to recall what every teacher chides, that spiritual formation happens in the interruptions. Specifically in how we manage the interruptions and with what attitude and spirit we regard those forces pulling the edges of our attention.
How tempted I am to give up and give in, to go through the motions of the day never reflecting on the meaning of anything. Scout’s small brain and inexperience leaves her surprised that rain makes her so wet and cold. I can be annoyed or entertained, and reminded that the rain is soaking not only my floors but the earth. For which I am blessed and nourished.
My coffee is cold and it’s past time to move into this day. It won’t go as planned I’m sure. I hope I remember to be grateful for that. ~ peace & prayers, pastor annette
Most all the leaves are down now. On sunny mornings light glints off the the cars in the junkyard beyond our woods. But not today. The woods are wet and the scent of summer’s decay is strong.
The house cat and the puppy are both complaining mightily. Simba because it’s raining outside every door I open for him. Scout because I won’t let her out at all. The cat cleans up before coming back inside. Scout just muddies up the floors and furniture. You’d think I beat her the way she’s crying.
Ignoring them to soak in the perfection of this hour takes more effort than it ought. I want to note the newness of fall, how the rain is different when the leaves are down, softer and more distant. Instead of swishy and full, the wind sounds creaky and slow.
I fail. Scout is driving me crazy so I let her onto the deck. She’ll be soaked but not muddy unless she digs in my flower pots again. Then I’ll hose her down and shut her in the laundry room for the day. I need to remember this is her first autumn. The leaves and the smell are brand new to her.
By the time I start another sentence she wants back inside. Now she’s rubbing herself dry on the rug. I sigh and try again to focus long enough to recall what every teacher chides, that spiritual formation happens in the interruptions. Specifically in how we manage the interruptions and with what attitude and spirit we regard those forces pulling the edges of our attention.
How tempted I am to give up and give in, to go through the motions of the day never reflecting on the meaning of anything. Scout’s small brain and inexperience leaves her surprised that rain makes her so wet and cold. I can be annoyed or entertained, and reminded that the rain is soaking not only my floors but the earth. For which I am blessed and nourished.
My coffee is cold and it’s past time to move into this day. It won’t go as planned I’m sure. I hope I remember to be grateful for that. ~ peace & prayers, pastor annette
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