The sound soothes building anxiety over nothing in particular but everything colliding together. Husband could tell you the past few days, I am a pendulum swinging hard, foot-propelled wind whipping escaped strands of hair at the edge of my face.
Beyond the porch’s edge, a three-pronged sprinkler waves in a lazy circle to three children who burst forth in laughter, tiptoe-dancing ‘round just beyond water’s reach. They are truly free.
In darkened treetops, I can hear the hum of locusts newly arisen from a seven-year stay in dusty tombs. Wyatt found one just the other day and brought it indoors to watch the miraculous rebirth, pointed wings of kiwi green pumping dry and full for a mere week of flight before death.
Their singing rises and falls as the scene before me is veiled in deep shadows, reminding me that bloodthirsty mosquitoes are on the move and will soon be out hunting in force.
For now, though, this moment is paradise, is God-soaked creation at its best.
I know it’s bath time, that tomorrow’s activities won’t allow sleeping in…but I don’t want to leave this moment. I feel Him in this beauty, in the simplicity and quietness that is all too often interrupted by all that is life.
Like Peter, I want to stay here in communion, build a tabernacle above, exchange my life of clouded ceiling for this purer one above with clouded floor beneath my feet.
If I keep swinging, keep listening in the moment, maybe that life filled with unending laundry, children’s bickering, looming deadlines, and just constant reminders of old or new pain...won't it just go away? Can't I, too, dance around the sprinkler without the back-of-the mind nagging of tasks needing to be done?
And so I linger as the moon rises, pendulum slowing until it is at rest. I feel His peace and send forth a prayer of thanks for this moment.