Living Breathless (Busy vs Beauty)

I'm on the porch, on the old rocker, and the sounds from the dining room delight my soul. My two youngest sons and two friends are around the table, eating pizza and talking all things little boy.

And they laugh.

It's the kind of laughter that comes from down deep.  It's easy and free. It rolls and flows. They try to talk around it. They gulp for air. But in the end, they give in and laugh until their sides hurt.

And as they laugh, my own soul becomes lighter.

In this moment, I'm grateful for the simplicity that's stilled my world. I'm thankful for children and for joy that comes from loving life and those around you. I'm thankful for boys who are brave enough to be just who they are - little boys. There's something lovely in this, and they don't even know that once childhood is gone, it can never come again.

The week had been full.

Busy.

 Lonny was out-of-town, and even with my oldest son home from graduate school, dividing and conquering meant running wild. Two boys to the pool. One to baseball. Meetings and youth group and Bible club. Practice and games. Back and forth. Yoyo living. Moving too fast to see extravagant grace shining in ordinary places.

Like the goodness in the laughter of little boys.

If someone asked me to describe how we've been living day-to-day, I'd think of commitment. Activities and obligations that keep the calendar tight.

 We live breathlessly.

 But today, sitting here soul-still, I think of living breathless in a different way.

What if living breathless is living slowly enough to let God take my breath away?

 

 

When my boys were smaller, when they wanted my attention, my full-on focus, they'd place their small, warm hands on my cheeks. They'd lock their eyes on mine. "Mama," they'd say. "Listen."

The Lord doesn't physically cup my chin and direct my gaze, but He directs my heart. There's sometimes a whisper to wonderful and if I'm too busy, too distracted, too intent on intention, I may just miss out.

Lord, let me see your goodness and grace today. Let me live breathless - in awe of Your Presence.

The boys are finished at the table. Chairs scrape hardwood and dishes clatter-clank. In a crazy blur of boyhood, they thunder past and bolt out the door. They're free to run and free to be.

 I sit here.

Captivated.

I want to live breathless - seeing God's grace in beautiful, ordinary things.

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever. Psalm 118:1 NIV

When Answer to Prayer Comes Slowly

Hello Friend,

This week I had the blessing of guest posting at The Better Mom. I'm grateful for this beautiful site as it brings spiritual encouragement to so many women.

Here's the link to my post:



http://www.thebettermom.com/2016/5/14/when-answer-to-prayer-comes-slowly



I'm praying you'll experience God's love in rich and powerful ways today, and I'm so glad you're here.

.

Lovingly,

Shawnelle

Rejoice And Be Glad - A Morning Song

I'm flying down the road. Late. As usual. It's seven-thirty in the morning. I'm wondering if I was half mad when I scheduled this appointment because I can't imagine willingly arranging to have my mouth probed at this time of the day.

Green digital numbers remind me that I overslept. I don't like to be late. I feel like I'm stealing the dentist's time.

There's a string of traffic in front of me. It slows. Stops. And I understand that we're going to wait for a train. The blasted train that moves at a death-crawl. The train that inches over the tracks and then goes into reverse for some hitching process.

The train that takes six or seven minutes to complete its business.

So I sit, fingers laced tight, my head running a crazy clip of the rest of my day. Places to go. Things to accomplish. To-dos that stretch far and wide. It brings a rope of stress. It tangles around me and feels altogether too tight.

And then I see him.

This man.

He's walking down the sidewalk. He's lanky. Thin. Tall. He's moving in a motion of gangly appendages. But there's a bounce in his step. He looks light. His arms are swinging. His legs are moving. He's carrying a cooler and he's dressed in washed out blue.

But what grabs my attention the most is his mouth. It's opening. Closing.

This man is singing out loud.

I want to roll down my window to hear, but his song would be covered by the clatter of the train.

I wonder where he's going. To work, most likely. I wonder what he's singing. I'm drawn in as he throws his head back and sings.

And suddenly I don't care what he's singing.

I only know that I want to sing, too.

It's a beautiful day. Crisp and clear. The sun is still strong. It's warm - a gentle spring heat. Not-too-humid. The day is fresh, ready to be unwrapped. Unrolled. There are people to love and kindnesses to be shared. God's love to be enjoyed and reveled in.

This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. Psalm 118:24 ESV

The man continues down the sidewalk that ribbons along the road. The train finishes its hitching thing and traffic begins to move.

I'll probably be late for my appointment. I'll apologize.

But as I step on the gas, I notice that my hands aren't gripping the wheel in white-knuckled anxiousness anymore. The knot of stress, the tangles of troubles and time, have relaxed.

I press forward toward my day. Toward the good things that await.

And I drive along, I begin to sing.