- i hear the wind sweeping the sky, and i am tumbling in and out of soft dreams between my blankets, and the sun is leaning against the wall in my room napping.
saturday.
- stumble into the bathroom, grin at a face sleepy and solid in the mirror. survived my first day of being eighteen. it went exactly as any other day when i was seventeen. i hum to myself, the only one awake in the house even though it's already 7:30am.
sunday.
- always a quieter type of day when you are alone. i slept in as late as i could before my dad fumbled his way downstairs and announced that the cinnamon rolls were out of the oven. i laughed. because i had mentioned that i wouldn't mind them for breakfast, and i didn't think he heard me, but here we were.
eighteen. it has been a series of the quietest and gentlest gifts that only i know of. His precious hand weaving His grace into the very folds of weekend days and weekday hurts. i am thankful.
monday.
- i trace the raw branches with my eyes, we're ten years old, sitting beneath that tree barefoot and skinny legged. who knew the grace of God was stretching its roots into the very depths of our feeble hearts? i press my palm up the window of the past. most people wish they could get it back. i've never been that way. i feel the crevices and old valleys in between those good days.
they have all brought me here, closer to the gentle hands of my Solid Rock. i wouldn't change that for those old juicy peach afternoons and 8 o'clock bedtime summer nights.
my greenbean of a girl wrote a song !! ! go listen. pls.
/x
