Snow dusts the field, the driveway, the roof.
A robin shivers in the pregnant branches. Feathers ruffle in the bitter wind.
The feeders are empty, so I don my jacket and boots, scoop black oil to refill.
I purposely spill some for the ground-feeders and for the love of sunflowers.
I come in and empty the dishwasher, empty the trash, empty the dryer, empty the washer.
Empty the checkbook.
How many times can I empty?
Seventy times seven?
I empty and they fill to be emptied, to be filled again.
I think of how he emptied Himself to fill, how I need to empty myself to be filled.
I empty a glass of stale water and fill with fresh, add ice.
And I wonder about Nduta.
Does she have fresh water to drink?
Is her tummy full today?
I take an empty piece of stationery and begin to fill it with words.
To tell her how my heart fills with love when I think of her.
To remind her how Jesus fills her heart with love–and how she needs to spill that love, empty herself, to be filled again.
Note: Nduta is our Compassion daughter. She lives in Kenya.
Joining Lisa Jo in community on the five-minute prompt of empty.