Awareness

Ah, I awake again today with more energy than I’ve had for a long time. The sky still waits to receive the sun, the pine trees gently sway against the morning breeze. And the world is blue and gray and still. I think the sun will be hidden today. Yet, all is well, and the same for me.

I am currently a pastor without a church, so the days seem unbound, and I unmoored. But, the breaking away and preparing for new has given me a new gift: time. Without the expectations of my call, old realities emerge: child of God, husband, father. They are there all the time. All gifts, all blessings that can surround me if I let them.

On the steps of the back porch yesterday, while Wyatt held a miniature Nine-iron over his left shoulder, I held Elise in my arms. And, I thought, these are my children. All this has been given to me, this house, this daughter, this son, the delights of my heart. And, I am aware.

Not always aware, sadly. In fact, there have been many moments recently where I’ve fixated, where I’ve felt the need to squeeze out my own existence and security, to procure the right product. Needing to get more, to build my worth, to secure my happiness: these are the sins that bind me into a miserly life. Yes, miserly is the right word: small, narrow-minded, blind. And hoarding.

Let it be, Wes. Let it be.

We ate like king and queen last night, the brined bird sitting on our stove in regal display. Too much. And friends brought us the fruit of the vine and the blessing of knowing they still cared. So, I opened that bottle at the evening meal, remembering to celebrate life, to give thanks.

And in these past two days, Elise has learned to crawl in rudimentary fashion, to even sit up in her own way. I was here for that, thanks be to God.

And I have seen the most curious and delightful things in my son. He sits upon the bed when he watches Sesame Street, mom’s and dad’s bed. And while he watches the silly puppets, he reaches for a bottle of lotion, squeezes a bit of the cold cream onto his hands and softens his hands, and his arms. Yesterday, I came in and his sweatpants were up to his knees, and he reached for his feet, to bath them in the oils of calm and revitalization.

Who has taught him these things?

The world is teeming with the delights of unpredictable. I lift up my eyes to the hills, to see a world bigger than me.

Wes