It was a long, happy weekend of giving thanks. During family dinner as the silverware clinked on fine china, then again later as wedges of pie were passed, between friends, during joyful church services and into microphones, I heard people express gratefulness for so many beautiful things.
Some were humorously indicative of current life situations, such as…
“Getting 24-hour flu instead of a prolonged cold.”
“All the snow melting so I don’t have to plow.”
“Lefse.”
“Baby sleeping through the night.”
Others were sweetly tearful, deeply emotional, such as…
“Healing.”
Long lists of volunteer services.
“A phone call from a long lost family member.”
“You.”
After all the feasting and gathering was over, I took an evening walk under leaden skies, picking my way along the the icy ruts of our driveway as I mentally added a few more things to the list, like:
“Cartons of freshly laid brown eggs in my fridge.”
“Homemade brown sugar hazelnut lattes.”
“The sound of little feet pitter-pattering down the hall.”
It was a wonderfully cheering thing to do on an otherwise drab evening. But then this happened:
The dim, dreary skies lit unexpectedly up with all this splendor that kept going and going and going and wouldn’t stop. I paused to notice the first flush of pink, and then stopped to watch in awe as it spread and rippled and flamed across the entire canopy of the heavens curving over my world. Then the coyotes started to yap far off in the forest, and I thought about the fact that there’s more than one way to make your voice heard.
People say it with words, the animals with their own unique sounds, the sky with color, each one declaring thanks and glory. Yes, glory!
For the small things, for the large things, in all things.
To God, our Creator, Giver, Sustainer.
Because giving thanks really is just another way of giving glory.
“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.” (Psalm 19:1)
“All Your works shall give thanks to You, O LORD, And Your godly ones shall bless You.” (Psalm 145:10)
Whether the calendar says so or not, the last day of August always seems like the last day of summer to me—and seeing that always makes me kind of sad. Nothing against fall or even the coming winter, mind you. I truly love the changing seasons. It’s just that summer in Minnesota is somehow just a little briefer than the other seasons, and I never quite manage to get in all the swimming and fresh peaches on ice cream that I want to before it’s time to pull out the sweaters and hot cocoa again.
Red is for ripe wild strawberries discovered along fence rows, sweet and warm with sunshine…
Orange is for a monarch butterfly, minutes old, clinging trustingly to my wide-eyed daughter’s finger…
Yellow is for the elegant beards of irises…
Green is for sun-dappled woodland ferns…
Blue is for swan families floating on riffles of water…
Purple is for brilliant masses of fireweed…
There’s a breeze coming in off the lake, this hot afternoon in early June. There’s blue sky smiling down at me through a lacy frame of green, green leaves. Summer is in the air, and I am, appropriately, drinking it in from the luxury of an airy vacation hammock. If the air is full of summer, the views are no less so—and so I offer you these vignettes, all visible, more or less, from my leisurely post.
A kayak,
A jeweled beetle climbs relentlessly upwards
Relentless waves
Bare feet,
Ducks dabble along the quiet green edges.
Great clouds sail sedately by,
The Thunder Moon doesn’t technically occur until July, but if ever such a name was appropriate for a full moon, it was this one. It seemed to rest and roll along the tops of this magnificent soaring June thunderhead at sunset, like some whimsical bright ball up there bouncing down cloud stairways. As I watched from the porch steps, the billowing cloud rumbled faintly and the liquid gulping of a bittern echoed along the lake shore as dusk slowly fell—and I thought about David’s words:
And, while we’re on the topic of the moon, just for the fun of it, I thought I’d share a few interesting lunar-themed links I’ve happened across recently. Hope you enjoy them as much as I did!
“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined…
On the evening of the 22nd, moving into the wee hours of the 23rd, we stood outside, oblivious to the mosquitoes (and believe me, it takes some pretty incredible distraction to make that possible right now), and watched one of the most spectacular displays of northern lights we’ve ever seen. They were everywhere, around and above us, even into the south, dancing and pulsating and rippling across the diamond-studded velvet of the night sky in glowing whites and greens. We were in awe.
Rejoicing Hills 