Inspired by . . . a walk to the mailbox

Inspired by . . . the table before us Inspired by . . . a change of color

Inspired by . . . a walk to the mailbox

It’s a cool morning. Or, should I say, cooler. Seventy-four is cool to me, but not most. It’s humid. My phone widget says 90%.

Damp. Steamy.

The earth feels heavy. The clouds are hugging her close.

I know my pant legs will get wet, but I don’t care as I head off across the fields to the mailbox. Not bills in my hand, but the ramblings of an 84 year old. I hope the recipients can read his writing. It’s worth the effort.

I side-step the evidence of deer gatherings and keep alert for hidden fawns under the low slung trees. The birds are chattering away, introducing each other to the day.

I’m talking to God. Saying good morning, and thanking Him for the abundance of blessings.

My mind conjures up a tune, “The birds are singing and all is right with the worl –“

Except it’s not. The needle skips across the vinyl and comes to a screeching halt.

I look up at the sky. A slice of blue reminds me that there are others looking up too.

But they’re not hearing bird song in background of their world.

And my heart breaks. Again. For the millionth time over the suffering in the world.

Marana tha!

Come, Lord Jesus!

And yet, I know why He tarries.

But do not forget one thing, my dear friends!

There is no difference in the Lord's sight between one day and a thousand years; to Him the two are the same.
The Lord is not slow to do what He has promised, as some think.

Instead, he is patient with you, because He does not want anyone to be destroyed,

but wants all to turn away from their sins. 2 Peter 3:8-9

I’m grateful.

Grateful, yet longing.

I raise the red flag and turn back.