Beauty

Alive

I’m approaching my birthday.  Although it is not a “significant one”, I’m caught in awe about life.  I was looking at my daughter in her pram this morning and I was brought to a realisation that it’s such a privilege to be a mother.  Then my meandering mind brought to the fore that my life too, is special.  My mind is often quick to dart to the negative and see the depressed side of life.  But today I want to celebrate the day, the life and the light that can pour from my face.

I want to write about goodness.  I want to sing about the great things of life.  I want to sit by the warmth of a million good thoughts.  I want to let that be treasured now for today and for another time that it still reigns true.

I love the clear sky.  Even when the clouds poke through the bright blue, they stunningly waft past, knowing that time can and will keep ticking.  Rather than watching the clock, there is beauty in looking up and seeing the sun, it’s position and radiance.

I love it when my daughter smiles at me.  Not for anything I have done or for a memory, but just for the now.  I just walked into her room and for that I reap the reward of sharing her giggles and I smile.  

I love an old ottoman that I picked up off the side of the road.  It was dusty and coated with cat fur, but my husband dandied it up and now it is our ottoman.  It provides, amongst its original intentional purpose, a spot that my eyes stare at when I’m in our lounge room.  My eyes trace the floral pattern that is on it.  My mind diverts through the files kept inside, yet tracing the pattern somehow slows down the process and allows me to start to be mindful once again.

I love the clothes basket filled with clean clothes.  I’m thankful for clean water and the ability to clean my surroundings.  I don’t want to ever take for granted that I have all that I need for every day.

I love the bookshelf in our study.  With its books reaching different heights as they rest against each other.  Some have been quite significant to me in my pursuit of growth and truth.

I love the mug full of pens.  They await at the ready, poised in position to write something important in my calendar.  A special date or an anniversary or simply an appointment.  Whatever they jot, I’m thankful for the occasions I celebrate and I’m even grateful for the times of sitting waiting for good medical care for my family.  

I love these things.  They are silly little things and inconsequential to some.  Yet they are the comforts that I am thankful for.  They are the things that are emptied out into my dreams at night, scattered around trying to find a place to settle.  

And while we are not called to treasure things.  They can be a continual reminder that I am provided for.  I am loved.  There is one greater than me who sits and rests, but does not sleep.  Even when my mind calls out for something more, I sit back down and look at these things and they ground me.  They remind me of my place.  A place where I dwell.  A spot to consider and grow.  A place of thanksgiving.  One day I’ll thirst for this place to come alive like it has for me just now.  I hope that I can read through this script, satisfied that there is deep fullness available.  And for that I am grateful.  

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