The house breathes silent.
The night inhales expectant.
Soft light turns black to gray, illuminates alabaster earth skin.
Green glows gold and blue and white.
I strung the lights and hung the ornaments alone this year.
On sale artificial tree.
Just a few color-coordinated ornaments.
The rest left in storage.
Except for the red apple that has hung on every tree since our first Christmas in 1971.
The cat curled under the tree wakes, yawns, stretches, and creeps into my lap.
I cradle her while I stroke gray and cream.
She vibrates under my touch.
I wonder what it was like to cradle the Divine.
Did Mary sniff a subtle scent of heaven as the babe nestled in her arms?
This space will be more quiet over the next couple of weeks with infrequent posts as I prepare for Him and for some coming changes.
I sense a need to slow down in this season.
To bathe in His light.
To smell His fragrance.
To hear His voice.
To see His face.
To nestle in His arms.
I want to breathe silent.
It’s not too late.
He’s never late.
Sipping tea and contemplating Him today with L.L. Barkat.
Today I’m grateful for:
A husband’s soft (sometimes loud) snore.
A kitchen that needs cleaning.
Laundry that needs washing.
The cat’s meow.
Five intact senses.
Crayola Twistables for marking in my Bible.
Sticky sock sisters. (Have I already said that?)
Light in the dark.
Joy in the morning.
The grace of Grace.
Deer in the field.
Binoculars on my windowsill to watch them.
Joining Ann and the multitudes today as we count our gifts.