The wind finds its way through my fortified walls, and the snow and sleet fall silent on my head. The ache of a cold earth is pulled up through my feet by my bones, and I am grateful for the blessing of a fire in the fireplace, and a warm drink to pour over my lips. The poetry of God in presence and written Word is my daily Bread, I am forgiven and forgiving on this cold Tuesday.
These kind of days make me see, and hear, feel differently. The way the indiscriminate snow covers the unlikely marriage of mud, trash, and fallen branches just behind my back gate with unselfconscious beauty is a grace sonnet, and my black sweatshirt with the hood pulled tightly over my head is a mother's embrace.
I'll eat, enough, drink, enough, be loved, enough, and hallelujah will ring like a bell from my hidden thoughts, enough. I will live in a place of soulful plenty because God loves me, and time will move me into tomorrow after I finish using up every second of today.
I'll see your face, on another day. For now, I will hum a doxology of gratitude.