Yesterday was a day of possibilities. Pillowy clouds against a blue sky.
Then a storm shoved its way through, snapping arms off maples, birches, cottonwoods, slamming red cannas face-down on the ground.
On looking at the aftermath, my husband and I stared long at the yard.
This morning, we are traveling to a family reunion. Life must go on.
What about the yard debris? Neither of us speaks of it.
Hearts heavy, we head down a gravel drive with chicken-and-dressing, hot dogs, cookies. An act of love. An act of duty.
Stress. It can steal the good out of everything.
Once the car climbs the mountain road, I insert Reba’s disc. I want to somehow lighten our load. My husband asks if we might start with #6: “I’ll Fly Away.”
Two songs later, I am singing with Reba McEntire, praising the Lord.
She sings these songs without crying. How? I cry as I sing along. Could be my weird wiring.
Storms are not an accident. My living in this time period, not an accident. Neither is it accidental that my America is more chaotic than ever, or that today is the day to reunion with loved ones.
Now, to focus and pay attention to family, to the here-and-now.
Nothing de-stresses me more than blessing those I love. It can be a good day.
I close my eyes and give my worries to God. That’s all it takes. I am set free and feel Jesus in my bones.
“More blessed to give than to receive.” (Acts 20: 35, NKJV.) I let that scripture settle inside me, let myself receive what I truly need.
Blessings to each of you,
P.S. - Grateful for any comments you may make under the photo of downed cannas.
Photo by Pat Durmon. Red cannas in Durmon yard after a storm, June 25, 2017.