My checking account does not look good right now. We’ve had some large extra expenses this month, and I have not prepared well. I fear an overdraft.
I’m glad I saw that.
I roll pennies, ransack old purses, rob our wallets, and return returnables. I stuff everything into an empty wipe box and hurry to the bank, beg them not to laugh at me.
“Cute container,” says the teller.
The day is gray.
On the way home, I notice the end-of-season-sale sign in front of the Dairy Queen. The center lane is leaf littered, and I straddle a squirrel carcass, and I wonder if it was cut down in the midst of fall gathering. A spent brown garden is dotted with brilliant orange orbs.
The cattails have parted, and I can see “Lake Abby,” formed by a broken drain pipe in the field and now might be considered an “emergent wetland.”
Any water drama has been hidden by the corndog grass and the towering field corn. The furry cigars are bursting, splitting, spilling fluff.
(Did you know that every part of a cattail is usable and even edible?)
The land is browning, dying, reseeding.
Nature bows.
And yet, I still see life in the midst of death. Vibrant color in the midst of drab. Spring in fall.
And I am grateful for the camera button that makes my eyes bulge with wonder. For images that let me see and touch the fingerprint of a creative God.
And as I learn to see with my eyes through the seasons, I ache to stop, look, and see deep into the hearts of the hurting, to see beauty in the broken, and somehow speak hope and life into gray days. I want to be a container of change.
And yet I fear my words are empty. As empty as my bank account.
They bounce off my keyboard and blow like fluff in the wind.
What if He asks me to enter into the suffering? What if He asks me to look into the eyes of poverty and pain? What if He asks me to walk in muck? What if He asks me to smell the stench of death?
Would I close my eyes and stop my ears?
Would my heart burst? Would it bleed?
Or is it empty?
All I have are penny rolls–of words.
Walking with Ann Voskamp and others today as we search for eyes to truly see.
No, Sandra. You are rich and you would be faithful.
I’m certainly rich in friends–like you.
oh wow. fabulous post. thank you for the words and the pictures.
you are blessed.
Thanks, Beth.
Wonderful words you’ve created here today:)) I am always blessed when I come visit.
I’m blessed when you visit, Terri, and I’m on my way to your “house” shortly.
When I first got married my grandma would bring over coffee cans full of change that April and I would roll. It paid for our groceries.
I echo Kathy’s statement. You are rich and faithful.
My husband always tries to pay with correct change. And I always try to get him to pay with bills and give me all the change for my stash. 😉
Sometimes a penny roll of words is all someone really needs. You bless me. Love you.
You bless me more. I love you more.
Sandra, you continue to amaze me.
ACFW. Next year. 🙂
Remember the widow with one coin? I feel like that — so small and impoverished. But in God’s economy, the penny faithfully offered is a treasure from which wonders are worked.
Oh, that’s a beautiful word.
Your words and your example are both rich and faithful..you are His daughter!