Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Eyewitness of His Majesty (Small Stone January 22)

   Sitting on a hard pew, sliding around on the polished wooden planks because of my polyester dress and winter tights, shivering from the cold air, I look forward and blink. I am listening to the scriptures passively at first, gliding thoughtlessly through our Sunday morning routine with little effort. 
   Until the speaker’s eyes change. His brow furrows and his voice follows suit, revealing light that is about to break through. And then it does.
   Long wrestled questions are calmly and brightly put to bed in my heart with a great, silent swoop. 

“For we have not followed cunningly devised fables,
when we made known unto you 
the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
but were eyewitnesses of his majesty.”
~II Peter 1:16

   I have myself been an eyewitness to the physical healing of my own children and in this moment am recharged to believe again in the promise of new miracles.
   How could I have grown so comfortable in my lack of vision?

Most Serious Small Stone Ever

   I drop in the peeled chunks of orange, fibrous and glistening, along with the firm, fragrant pieces of banana. Spooning in a tub of plain Greek yogurt and then drizzling over that some local honey, I suddenly feel so thankful for these fresh ingredients. So ready for the burst of energy they’ll provide. 
   After two months of over indulgence and relative inactivity, this moment at the kitchen blender is a turning point. I lay my hand on top and press a button at the base. The motor whirs to life, and reflexively my mind counts off the days to bikini season. 

Self Sufficient (Small Stone January 18th)

   This morning was cold. Beautiful, yes, but definitely colder than the deliciously warm days we’ve enjoyed all month. The pond wore a thin skin of ice even where the sun could reach.  The grass was crunchy with frost. And all the animals were heaving out plumes of steamy breath as they patrolled the farm. One of my jobs this morning was to make sure everyone could find fresh water to drink throughout the day.
   I did that and some other things and was quietly distributing piles of hay for the four-leggeds and tearing off bits of stale bread for the birds when I heard it. A loud, crushing sound and then a splash behind me. Chunk-hi had hammered his great, square chin and then his massive horns against the ice in his trough, releasing the loose water beneath it.

   “Oh I’m sorry, little buddy, I totally forgot about your trough!”

   “That’s okay, Mom. I got this.” His long beard was dripping with water, his horns shiny and steaming. Long black eyelashes blinking calmly at me.

   He can’t really talk, you guys. He’s a buffalo. But we understand each other just fine.

Thursday Potential (Small Stone January 12th)

   After what might have been the deepest, most solid sleep I have enjoyed in weeks, maybe months, I sit here on Thursday morning facing a long, solitary day that pulses with incredible possibility. It is thrilling.
   Snow covers the ground, not deep and fluffy, but crusted and bitterly cold, probably something closer to ice. Yet the sun is bright, loud in his brightness, defiant of the single digit temperatures. I feel grateful to not have to drive anywhere today, fortunate that my place in this world is a cozy one, a safe, happy, meaningful one. 
   Over the next eight or nine hours, what improvements can I make in our little corner of the world? What reaching out can be done? How much can I strengthen our foundations and adorn our dreams?
   Choosing how to funnel my abundant energy is often my biggest daily challenge, and today is no exception. but today it is a motivation, not a burden. Today the possibilities are potential.
   I cannot help but wonder how much of this feeling has to do with my hair being freshly washed and blown dry.
   

Still Morning (Small Stone January 10th)

   At 6:38 this morning we creep outside for another Hot Tub Summit. The moon still rests high on her nighttime throne, gloriously full, casting brilliant silver light all over the hills and valleys and fields. I cannot detect the slightest breeze, no movement anywhere. Even the geese are quiet. The farm is still asleep.
   Oak, blackjack, red bud, and pine trees stretch their perfect, inky silhouettes out against the sky while we soak in the scalding water and unwind ourselves from the night.
   
   When the time finally comes to abandon the quiet, to begin a new day, that smooth gray canopy above us has clicked over to a deep shade of blue. The moon is politely receding into the western sky. And the guineas have started their morning song.