The Promise that'll Change Your Week

Hijacking my attention, I no longer heard his voice as the speaker continued, my thoughts captive by a sentence underlined in stubby pencil on the page.

Photo: Pedro Ribeiro Simoes, Creative Commons cc, license

Sitting on blue upholstered interlocking chairs this Sunday, I read and re-read the verse: God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything.

Later, minced lemongrass, ginger root, and garlic cloves bubble to the surface of a light green Vietnamese soup. A lemony onion and garlic fragrance hangs heavy in the kitchen air. My hands in hot soapy sink water, I smile at the scent of ginger coconut soup and keep an eye on the timer as I scrub plates and pots with my matted green scrubby. Faded used tea leaves drift to the surface of my dish water, skirt around a soap sud, and swirl in tiny eddies.

Sunday's verse bubbles in my mind again, a frequent occurrence this week, it seems. God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything. The verse, it comforts, it teaches, it strengthens me. I hear it simmer in my head in work settings this week, and smile to find it rise unbidden from my lips on a phone call with my mom who is in a hospice room for my grandma. The promise swirls and eddies in my mind while I tutor geometry homework with my daughter, dice cilantro for soup, and slice into juicy lemons.

The verse speaks hope deep within me during a tremulous conversation with a loved one, and my lips trace its truth in quiet trust. God is greater than our hearts and he knows everything (from the Bible book of 1 John 3).

Rinsing my hands of the floating tea leaves from the sink, I step over to the stove and stir a swirling pot of minced lemongrass, ginger, garlic, and onion Vietnamese soup, and the truth -- it simmers up in me too, smelling sweetly.

Hi friends, I appreciate you. What have you been reading, learning, or thinking about lately? 
 

Balancing Work and Home: Making Every Moment Count

Stepping outdoors, the heat hit my face, and I sucked in air greedily. One of my favorite scents is the fragrance of hot wet soil and asphalt steaming in the sun after a rain. Sand ripples, eroded by flash rain, strata-ed the edges of the road, and a red fire hydrant gleamed newly-polished from the storm.

I inhaled deeply as I walked, my work bag swinging on one shoulder. For a moment, I rustled in my bag for the phone, then stopped. Resisting the impulse to call or text, I instead stretched my shoulders, dropping and squaring them into a yoga pose, and breathed in deeply.

"Be here, Jen. Pause, breathe in. See God's beauty..."

I found my walk changing, and my focus following. Smiling, I debriefed from the day, grinning vaguely at passing cars and unseen neighbors, reviewing the week's duties. Water droplets glimmered deep within silvery spruce branches. A new song tickled the edges of my brain and I sang quietly under my breath. "May the Lord make your love increase and overflow for each other, and for everyone else..."

Sloshing through a muddy stretch, I wiped it off, grabbed my mail, and stepped inside, eager to see my family and kiss them.Thankful for my family, thankful for my job.

Hi, friend. I love hearing from you. What has your day been like? How do you transition from an outside job to home? (Those in email can click here to comment.) 

Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose.

Photo credits: #1: "Nighttime in the Rain" by Debbie Lewis; #2: Street image courtesy of HinFrance ; #3: "Broad Street Rain" by Rick Reinert.