Last night was like a perfectly
balanced algebra equation.
We had eaten (a simple, scrumptious
meal of salad, bread and wine) and prayed (for Zimbabwe, for Family Camp this
weekend, for healing, for the neighborhood of the new church, for a struggling
single mom, giving thanks for new babies safely born) and were sitting in the
solarium on the back of our friends’ house, relaxing, laughing, bantering,
reminiscing. Jo was home from college, Tim just graduated from high school, the
good father had arrived home after another day practicing medicine.
We sat there
enjoying one another.
Two hummingbirds frequented the feeder, flowers winked at
us, eyes sparkled and danced, and we devoured the visual feast before our eyes.
Curt and I took turns murmuring our
need to go, but we made no move to leave. We were settled and at peace. We
lingered, soaking in the goodness of a friendship that spanned many years. It
was a moment full of grace, full of suspended beauty. But the glorious melody
of the moment moved forward to the coda, a coda which would bring us to the end of the day.
Reluctantly, we rose and took our leave.
Outside, daylight was hovering,
peeking over the mountain ridge. We drove a hundred yards and watched a herd of
50-60 elk move through the tall grass. They had been crossing the road, but ran
back when we pulled over to watch. Have you ever seen elk run?
Their elegance seems impossible with their bulk. Mama elk
called to their calves; Collin and Curt imitated the calls, but no calves came
running toward us. We gazed at the groups, multiple parabolas, merging,
dividing, curving, gathering.
The sweet scent of freshly mown hay wafted from the
adjoining field. A passing car occasionally interrupted the stillness. Dusk
descended; distant lights twinkled. Curt started the car, and we drove home in
companionable silence. It had been a fine day.
Maybe I am getting old, but I see
these moments as treasures to cherish.
It was ordinary prayer group and yet it
was precious. Our batteries were re-charging, preparing for energy required in
days to come. We reconnected and agreed that it was very good. I wanted to
write it down, to keep the memory from dissolving into the air. I want to
remember this day and to give thanks for it.
He whose heart is
kind beyond all measure
Gives unto each day
what He deems best,
Lovingly its part of
pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with
peace and rest.
* photo from another evening of lingering in York, England