It's getting late. Quietly, quietly late. We had our first real snowfall in the valley just the day before yesterday. A few inches in the morning, another inch after noon, and pretty soon we are all covered, all blanketed, now waiting for the warmth of spring, now waiting contently, content to enjoy old mother winter for as long she takes. She ain't snowbird.
This year has taken us to new places (again). This year has brought alot of new faces (again). This year just might have been the best year ever, hard as it was at times, because we are alive and enjoying every second of it. Every damn second of it.
We're waiting for things to happen these days. All sorts of things. Not grasping for newness just for the hell of it every chance we get, but sitting back on our haunches and letting newness happen in its season, in its own time, flowering by night. The early bird gets the worm, yes. But the patient bird looks to the west, and after the storm rolls through, she feasts.
Dark as things seem sometimes, there is a feast ahead. And all creation groins for that day.
I've been reading bits of Isaiah lately, partly because it's poetry, but mostly because it's good poetry:
Man is humbled, and each one brought low, and the eyes of the haughty are brought low. But the LORD of hosts is exalted in justice, and the Holy God shows himself holy in righteousness. Then shall the lambs graze as in pasture, and nomads shall eat among the ruins of the rich.
We're making things happen these days. All sorts of things. Piece by piece we're building bridges and laying down roads, plowing fields and sowing seeds. It's tough work, to be sure. And sometimes, hardly rewarding. But pressing on is all we know to do. Pressing on and resting in the shadow of his wings. Press and rest. Press and rest. Festival, sabbath, press and rest. One day we will graze as lambs in pasture. But for now we press. One day we shall feast among the ruins of the rich. But for now we press.
It's tough business this pressing. But that's what his wings are for. That's what his temple is for. That's what you my brother, and you my sister, are for. This pressing is tough business, but we press for a goal.
Not that I have already obtained this or have become perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Straining forward to what lies ahead, pressing on toward the goal of the upward call, holding true to what we have attained.
Learning to remember. Remembering to be content.