I love to wake up and watch the wind blowing through the trees. It is a dramatic, inspiring beginning. Well, the first time I woke up the wind wasn’t blowing, nor the second. It was the third time I woke up that it was blowing, and the sun was up, and a chipmunk was chirping nearby. I had triple-jump of waking up this morning, with a hop and a skip and a leap. Now the breeze still blows, though not nearly as strong. There is in the air that peculiar stillness which presages a coming storm. The thick clouds moving in from the east add to the feel. There is a heavy, wet quality to the air, which causes the soul to stop and stare at the horizon. Waiting. I suspect this is a primeval instinct, when the weather meant something, and the ancient soul years for caution, just in case.
I feel that stillness and a peculiar sort of peace and hope, not peculiar for itself but because of the other things swirling about right now. So, I pray and I consider, and I revel in the hope and the peace, trusting in the God who does work and who calls us to always make the choices to pursue him in each and every moment.
This, however, is not a day for quiet consideration. Company comes.
I do have this morning, however, and so I think I shall try and use it well.