I glance out my window at the crabapple tree. I wait all winter for it to burst into bloom. I watch the bright pink buds pop and the blossoms unfurl. But it’s all lasted this spring for only a brief breath, and already in the rain and chill of this week, the blooms have faded, and petals litter the yard.
The Psalmist reminds us that our lives too, are but a breath, “for they quickly pass, and we fly away.” (Psalm 90:10, NIV)
Too often we rush time, waiting for and counting on the next thing instead of sinking into the present moment, paying attention to each breath. Instead of shushing ourselves to hear God, to sense creation’s kiss and the Spirit’s embrace.
I’ve been waking up earlier these days–another perk of spring when the light tiptoes onto my pillow. I love listening for the first bird’s cheep and seeing the sun blush in the east.
Morning is my best quiet time.
Dave Harrity agrees. ” . . . you miss a peace when you sleep through the morning.” he writes in Making Manifest: On Faith, Creativity, and the Kingdom at Hand. “Yes, sleeping is peaceful, but it’s a passive peace–you don’t chose it, you don’t experience it–you live through it, unable to acknowledge the moments it fills. But the quiet of the morning is peace that you live in. As Christ is in this world, he’s in this place. He’s in it everywhere–in the ever-expanding space above you, the tiniest ticking from the clock, the coughs and creaks of this space settling.”
I don’t want to sleep through any God-kissed, pink-petaled moments.
I want to cup each one with my words–with poetry.
One of our assignments this week was to write about our first kiss, and I remembered a fourth-grade peck on the cheek. But our day-14 assignment was to again go back through all our week’s notes,to cull some stand-out words and phrases, to look for “threads to pull.” Again, we were asked to create a ten-line poem, but this time it needed to include at least three similes–one of which had to be about kissing. And I remembered yet another kiss.
Memories fade fast like the crabapple blossoms on my favorite tree.
But it’s raining pink petals that swirl and twirl like a lovers’ dance,
and the breeze carries me back to the Waterfall where I order a shrimp salad
because he wears a suit to work, and his parents drive a Mercedes,
and it seems extravagant. And when the music stops, after we dance,
he presses me to his chest for just the pinch of a moment.
A balloon inflates in the pit of my stomach.
I turn my face toward heaven, and a
a petal’s damp, velvet lip brushes my cheek
like that first shy kiss at my apartment door.
Note: I married that “kisser” six months later, 42-1/2 years ago.
In the stillness,
Now it’s your turn. If you’re journeying through Making Manifest this month, feel free to link up a post below. If not, maybe you’d like to share your day-14 poem in the comments.
And here are a couple questions for everyone:
Is it possible that the act of kissing might help us to understand God in a unique way? Why or why not?
Describe a recent God-kissed moment.