singing

“How can I keep from singing Your praise?”

When I woke this morning, I was already singing.

After my second cup of coffee, and My Sweetie’s kisses on my neck, my brain filled with a double-handful of beautiful possibility—our bathroom looking so, walls and counters and full of light; the ‘dry creek’ of the walk smoothed of its live-oak sprouts; tan-and-purple glen plaid transformed into suit-ability….

(I bought the yard-goods when A was a toddler. It is, I think, now my farthest horizon of project-vision: a thing I see when I close my eyes, but the one with the greatest number of intervening priorities when I open them.)

Possibility is a song—the end result already in front of me, only the doing (the singing) remaining. It’s not the kingdom of God—it’s merely my human creativeness—but it’s beautiful like that, orderly rightness like that, quiet and loud and celebratory the way we will be when we are fully in God’s project-vision.

 

I think I’ll go trim the dry creek for an hour, before the sun really gets going.

 

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