Rigor Mortis and Finding Your Place

The wind blows hard, swaying the towering greens, and awkwardly dancing the brown pine that’s in rigor mortis. Summer falls hot and heavy. From behind air-conditioned windows, I contemplate projects, dropping landscaping down to the bottom of the list. Paint trays stack in the laundry room, awaiting creamy Canyon Cloud.

 

My daughter sits slack-jawed and glassy-eyed on the couch near me, waiting for health to come. A summer cold and bouts with mono have left several of us weak and slow-moving. Quiet seeps deep into our home, our bones, and health returns with naps and time.

I have been quiet in groups the last few days -- months, really. Rediscovering my place and role in a shifting time, learning to trust and invest anew. Thoughtful quiet and listening is good for me. I talk to my Abba, and gently step. 

In the distance, traffic whirs subtly; cars pass in near silence; and gauzy cotton fluffs sail past the window. The wind blows hard, silent movement out the window. 

“He who forms the mountains,

Creates the wind,

And reveals his thoughts to man…”

The wind blows hard. My Abba whispers and I listen quiet, feeling like the pine in rigor mortis, awkward and stiff.

Joining with Ann, I thank the Mountain-Former, Wind-Creator, High-Place-Treader-of-the-Earth for: wind, sun, summer’s heavy heat, growing health, and quiet wind-blown revealed thoughts.

The random winners of last post’s books are: Allison and Denise. Please email me with your mailing addresses so I can send out these books! Enjoy. 

What do you see out your window? What is God speaking quiet to you this week?

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