It’s a beautiful afternoon.
My room looks out westward into the garden my mother has lovingly cultivated over the years and now, back in my room after four long years of contented rushworkclasshurrysleep, I’m so enamored of the way the hours can tread patiently into sunset.
That’s probably why I’ve spent the last hour or so with my back propped up against my headboard in my room, looking out my window and enjoying the light and the way the breeze washes in.
The breeze is holy today, the way it washes in like the Holy Ghost, flying away with your breath, leaving you astonished and a little giddy. It’s carried the outdoors in–rose-scented. I stand at the door and knock, and Lord the window’s open too.
And the light. The room is brilliantly lit as the sunlight, colored with its own gold, comes in through my open window, let down gently by the wind. The light reflects upward, making the purple wall glow with warmth at the proffered friendship. He’s coming in, the light, rising over my bed as the red flowers and green leaves outside my window fairly thrum with anticipation. All creation groans. It’s a good thing, the agapanthus nods.
It all is, each sun-soaked undulation of my sleepy curtains, each gentle creak of the white rocking chair, each drowsy journey of the wasps arcing past my window. It’s marking time–so long since He came, so long till He comes again.
Fare forward, voyagers.