When I think of sunlight piercing through the clouds
That paint a perfect sky
I think of the silver lining of Your love
And I think of You
When I think of streams that weave through desert lands
As beauty comes alive
I think of the healing fountain of Your grace in my life…
When I think of children laughing full of wonder
And families reconciled
I think of the joy that’s found in answered prayer
And it makes me smile…
And I think of You who shines with endless light
Through broken jars of clay
And I think of You redeeming every part of each day
That you’ve made
I think of you.
For redemption’s now the story of my soul
‘Cause it was You who paid the highest price
For broken jars of clay
And You still choose to use my life
For Your glory displayed…
- Laura Story, I Think of You
The two-year-old broke the kitten’s tail in the door yesterday, on a day when I needed to rest, to recharge, to simply exist for a bit and breathe in, breathe out. I went to pieces, called my Pete home, gave him sorries and sorries with swollen eyes and aching joints and a body that keeps betraying us both.
But cats land on their feet, and Pete’s few moments home were the time that we needed to let him stay until midnight fighting injustice and untruthful others. Our afternoon was quiet, and I set work aside, sank into the hearts of friends, opened the heart of me out into them.
She talked about knitting, and she shared from her quiet, inviting me open into my mess. She wrote out the mess that she chose to become, and set my heart on fire. I looked out the window, called for the kids, rushed them out the door to the car, grabbing my camera on the way. We’d missed the sun, but the twilight, the river – we needed it.
Pip played like Peter Pan at the river’s edge, a sprite going up to her knees in cool river water and blue-black mud, shoes and all. B squealed and squirmed, my little boy who is not so much into puppy dog tails as he will wish he was when he is a teenage boy with other teenage boys to impress. The mosquitoes swarmed us, in mid-December. I shot one-handed: the light, the water, the peace, the evidence that in this moment, I had chosen to live.
We received the best sort of memory, a bad day bringing forth life for its end – a picture of redemption, God-glory, and the love I still carry inside my failing body and this worn-out, poured-out heart.
This one is for Elizabeth Esther, who told me last night when we talked how she finds peace in my photos. I think I see a little of her here in my own little girl playing… Here’s to grace, E, and the brave things we can’t do and find ourselves doing anyway.