MOTHERS DAY ON THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

It was one of those rare mornings when weather moved in off the mountains while it was still dark, the rain arriving before dawn and thunder rumbling in to wake us before the alarm clock clicked on. That doesn’t happen often. Generally it is the warmth the sun generates in the afternoon hours, heating the air at the lower elevations that then races upward, cooling in the atmosphere over the 14-thousand foot peaks, creating massive, towering cumulous cloud banks that then carry their energy eastward out over the front range and the eastern plains. Springtime and summertime see fairly regular afternoon storm activity, but storms in the early morning almost never materialize.

So this morning was a treat.

Tomorrow morning a golf tourney fundraiser is being held at the course near my home to benefit the Young Life organization. How could I say no? I golf once or twice a year whether I want to or not and the format is a scramble so most of my bad shots won’t effect the score and my rare good shots will be the only ones that follow me into the clubhouse.

Life should be so full of forgiveness.

I just realized there is an amazing metaphor for grace in there.

**

Days later...

Somehow Monday has arrived once again and I have a fairly open calendar meeting-wise but lots to accomplish in the studio. I ground some fresh Kona coffee and had a nice talk with Brandon before getting swept into the current. This quick attempt to post something on the blog is a bit of an unjustifiable diversion from that current.

We took Lucy on a Mother’s Day picnic yesterday, driving up to an overlook I stumbled upon last year just a few thousand feet down the slope from Mt. Evans. I had been wanting to take Lucy and Brandon there. The spot we picked to celebrate her was out on the edge of the world, tucked into a crook in the mountain where a stone wall juts out as a protection against the 300 foot drop off and the wall of granite that backs the spot protected us from any high altitude wind that might have swept down from the peak. The sun was warm and the food was good and the time together was so sweet.

HOPE

I hold a candle in the corner
Swat at the darkness with the light
- Amanda Leggett

Monday morning. My planner and a steaming hot cappuccino in front of me, the forecast calling for mid-70s, and an early shift in attitude toward a focus on the possible. Horizons of the possible, as Andy Crouch would say.

I’ve been listening to a CD project by Amanda Leggett, an artist who sang at the symposium in Austin last month. I love her sound: soulful, bluesy. And her lyrics: powerful poetry that has a transparently honest, raw depth to it. As darkness presses our hearts at night – to miss the morning’s increasing light – from blackened worlds we perceive your light – we see you.

She sings of a secret we barely know that pulls us from the undertow.

I often feel this intense thirst to know more, to understand more; yet even the mere glimpse of understanding of the mystery is enough to sustain me for another day, another week, another year. I was talking with Lucy recently about this feeling of encouragement that is clearly not circumstantial. It is its disconnectedness from worldly circumstances that encourages me more than if I could connect it to actual circumstance, to material offering. It serves to affirm my hope in the promises and the constant character of the one who redeems.

I hold a candle in the corner
Swat at the darkness with the light
I hold it ‘till it gets me warmer
‘Til it corrects my fitful sight
- Amanda Leggett