DANCING IN THE STORM

My frozen fountain again, piled high with winter white; no icicles, no birds, no melting, just robes of snow wrapped around her as if she were dressed for a ball. I don't dance in the storms anymore; no children come in breathless, red-faced telling tales of the tall snowman they have built. No one begs me to come sledding, making time for laughter and memories all at once.

I wonder if I have clothed myself adequately for the lingering season and the days to come? Have you? I want to reach for yesterday's tiny jam covered fingers in mine; I want to look down at a tow-headed child and not up at a growing man. Finding wonder in these moments takes an unfamiliar kind of courage- an embrace of wonder, humility, grief and grace. Letting little hands go for the sake of reaching out to your own adult is an oxymoron.

The fountain draws me because it is stationary, I can depend on her to be there, the same, yet dressed by God month in and month out. Could I somehow see He is the same; He wraps us all in glory, He is the One who sustains us. Those I love are in His keeping, reaching their hands to His, not mine.

It will take climbing a few interior steps of trust and faith to reach the loving heart of the One who will always welcome them home.

I wonder, do we trust God in the dance of life?

Medicine from Sacred Scripture:

"I delight greatly in the Lord; my soul rejoices in my God. For He has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness." 

Isaiah 61:10