|(Photo Credit: Juan Pablo Gonzales, Creative Commons, cc license)|
Six white crocuses bend and sway in the strong April breeze. We shiver and pull on sweatshirts inside the house, but can't bear to shut the windows on this sixty-degrees-in-the-sun-day. Spring has invaded Minnesota and pasty Minnesotans everywhere throw windows wide, strap on sandals, and pull out last year's shorts. And the brisk breeze lies about the warmth but none of us care. Donning a blue sweater, I curl up at the computer desk.
I've just spent thirty minutes combing IRS websites, FASA college loan pages, and working my way through automated phone services. And apparently, in this several week session between taxes and transcript stage, we do not exist. Automated messages are at their limits, and phone calls end unsatisfactorily. So, I laugh, shrug, and update my son's school.
And in this lull, my five year old and I curl up on the couch with his favorite fleece blanket. Wrapping warm against the crisp spring wind, I set him on my lap, and turn library pages. After books, we mix ice cream malts, and lick Cookies and Cream off the back of a spoon.
"When I am afraid, I will trust in you," I sing, while putting away the malt powder. And there isn't really any fear there, but the words spring to mind anyway. Daniel looks up to catch my eye, a smile spreading across his face. He joins in singing, and I grin as we sing it again, adding jaunty shoulder bounces.
"Oh! Can we do my thing, Mom?"
And at first I don't know what he's talking about. "Oh, your Awana verse? Sure."
He runs to his room, returning with an orange puffy-painted fabric bag. Daniel reaches his tiny hand into the bottom of the bag and pulls out a creased book.
"I'm here," he points to the open page. We read his verse for the week. In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. (Genesis 1:1). Adding hand motions, we singsong our way through it several times, and speak of stars and planets. I pull out his splashy children's Bible with riotous colors across the pages.
A minute or so later, we saunter away to other pursuits, and I'm struck by a fact. There is nothing I can tell you, nothing I can teach my kids, that is of more importance than God's word. Nothing else is solid, unmovable. Nothing else is stalwart, unshakeable. And those truths that we commit to song, to memory, are what will return to hum in our hearts.
Because, friends, what we know that we know that we know is only this: God's words are life, and truth, and they last forever. And those words spring to mind at the oddest times. Slivers of a phrase tickle my conscious (...abounding in love...) and I type it into a word search to satisfy my need to know. (You, Lord, are forgiving and good, abounding in love to all who call to you. Psalm 86:5). Ahh, that's where it is. Abounding in love, and I grin at the pencil lines I've drawn in bouncing jumps beside the verse to help me remember.
Another verse slips in my brain, and I hum it quietly under breath. Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage. And I'm still learning what a heart on pilgrimage looks like in today's world, but recognizing that we're on a journey with God is step one, I'm sure. It leaves me hungry to know him more.
And fresh air blows strong throughout my house today.
(Linking with Emily.)