Sandra Heska King

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In the Tiptoe Moments

November 13, 2014 By Sandra Heska King

The angels must have spilled their face powder this morning as white dust covered everything. 

I really should have gotten presentably dressed in something warmer, but as has been my habit lately, I ran Grace to school in the attire of the moment–silky black pj bottoms with pink and white dots that remind me of bokeh, a peach-colored Women of Faith T-shirt that hangs near to my knees topped by a shorter pink sweatshirt–the one my mom sent me to stay warm during my yard-sitting mornings–feet outfitted with mismatched socks (one pink and white striped and the other a two-tone blue pattern on gray) and pink slippers. Oh, the laughs the EMTs and police could have had if…

When I arrived home (without incident except maybe for the cute, blond-haired, seventh-grade boy that might have glimpsed my get-up when I dropped Grace off, Timehop Abe reminded me of the following from two years ago today–originally posted on BibleDude. I kind of enjoyed reading my own words today. Maybe you will, too. 

 

tiptoe moments

 

The point of a soft pink triangle cuts between two pine trees to the southeast, and a sparrow lands on a bare branch just outside my bedroom window. I peel back the Target-bought shabby chic quilt, the white one striped with pink roses, and slide from between crisp white sheets, careful not to disturb the cat curled next to me. I slip on my fluffy white robe, pocket the Droid, and creep downstairs in search of slippers.

I love the tiptoe moments of the morning when the house is quiet save for the hum of the fridge.

Before the grandgirl begs me to please pour her Trix and milk.

Before she plops on the couch, turns on cartoons and fires up the sound on her Kindle.

Before D rattles dishes, turns on the news, and wants to discuss which bill to pay with the corn money.

Before the day’s loud descends.

When I can just sit in the stillness and ignore the to-do list.

A bluejay pecks at ice, so I run hot water in a pitcher, step into the cold and pour slowly into the bath. I watch a small hole form, and the basin overflows. I wonder if the birds wait and watch, if they’re grateful I’ve met their need.

I set the pitcher on the concrete, rock the top from the metal can, and scoop up black oil seed into my blue feed funnel. The usually skittish chickadee waits on the feeder until I can almost reach out and stroke a feather before it flutters to a nearby bush.

The sun has exploded in the triangle, and the frosted ground glitters with many colors.

I would have missed this if I’d stayed in bed.

 

sparkle2

 

I hurry back to the garage, toss the funneled scoop back into the seed, and replace the lid.  I give it an extra push on right and then on left to critter proof the can. In the back kitchen, I shed slippers and retrieve my tall black muck boots from the dust bunnies under the pine bin. With camera in tow, I head back outside.

I breathe deep of fresh air and snap, snap from different angles, trying to capture the jewels spilled before me.

sparkle3

 

sparkle4

 

For a moment, I remember my mom and how we wrapped her well and wheeled her out in the November chill. I remember how she’d stare at baubles in the blue refracted by the scratched lens of glasses for as long as we (my dad and Sissy and I) could stand the cold. “Sunspots,” she called them. And I wonder at how that was only a glimpse of the treasure laid up for her–for us–by the Father of lights.

And I hear Grace call me in for her Trix.

 

In the stillness,

Sandy

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Comments

  1. Sophia says

    November 13, 2014 at 10:14 am

    “The angels must have spilled their face powder this morning!” I love that! You have such a way with words that paints a picture in my mind. What a gift of writing and sharing your heart that you have. Thank you!

    • Sandra Heska King says

      November 13, 2014 at 11:56 am

      Thanks so much for coming by, Sophia, and for your encouraging words.

  2. Lynn D. Morrissey says

    November 13, 2014 at 11:44 am

    So gorgeous Sandy! Have I read this before? It shimmers with the light of His brilliance. It’s an early Holiday gift to me–like Christmas lights twinking in frost. Love this and your poetic soul. and I know how much you miss your precious mother……..now witnessing the birlliance of life from the other side.
    Love
    Lynn

    • Sandra Heska King says

      November 13, 2014 at 11:56 am

      I don’t know if you read it when it originally posted two years ago at Dan’s, Lynn. But I’m glad if it ministers in some form now. Thanksgiving Day will be the third anniversary of Mom’s passing. She hated cold weather. 🙂

      • Lynn D. Morrissey says

        November 13, 2014 at 12:22 pm

        But she obviously saw beauty in it. I was just going to say that there is no cold weather in heaven…….probably b/c I don’t like it frigid. My mother, on t he other hand, does! Whatever it is like, though, it will be perfect, and this your mom and my dad experience. I do LOVE this post.

  3. Jillie says

    November 13, 2014 at 1:03 pm

    Lately, I’ve been learning from writers like you that I need to look twice at the splendour of the winter season. I’m hoping it works for me this coming winter, as I usually struggle with depression, especially when February and March roll in. By then, I’m ready for some warmer sun and snowdrops revealed under melting ice and snow. I shall remember “sun-spots”, that’s for sure! Lovely post, Sandra.

  4. Diana Trautwein says

    November 14, 2014 at 12:47 am

    I don’t know how I missed this the first time round – so glad you posted again!!! Simply lovely. Just.Like.You.

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