It had taken me a while to find this spot here on the front deck. I'd wandered aimlessly through the house, stood outside, gone back inside. What to do. Husband sleeping, kids playing with friends, I'm just here with nothing demanding my attention. A wave of loneliness swept over me. It's times like this when I feel the ache of the distance from Lynton to Longmont. Lynton, sharing 5 of the 6 letters in its name with Longmont. So much overlap in a name and no overlap geographically speaking. Thousands of miles separate the inhabitants of these two communities. Thousands of miles splitting my family. Torn down the middle. I fill my days with the busy, because, honestly, to stop makes me feel and emptiness can be hard to look at.
So I sat down in the broken, plastic, made in China, adirondack chair and breathed in the cool fall air. The papery leaves danced in the breeze and my hot tea steamed in the mug. Orange skin of rounded pumpkins sat, flat bottomed, on the deck. My heart gradually started to fill. I looked at the leaves, already discarded from tree, lying naked on the deck. Veins poking through thin leaf-skin. They are beautiful, glory flowing from them right to the end of their short life span. The air makes itself known against my skin, telling me the boundaries of my body. Its temperature cool. Blue sky holds up wisps of cloud high.
There is communion in this place. It's not the communion of a flesh a blood person that I can hold with my hands, hear with my ears, see with my eyes. It's more ethereal than that, but perhaps more real. I feel the air embracing me and I know it's Him. I see the shimmering leaves and I know that He moves them. I feel Him in my veins. I hear Him saying Shalom - peace. It's written all over the walls of my landscape.
I am not alone, not ever. All that I long for is right here with me, in me. All I need is eyes to see and ears to hear. Thankfulness really is the key to seeing clearly. I learnt that from Ann. It is true. Beauty, goodness, is all around us. Give me eyes to see.