As I drove along my eyes were drawn to the horizon spread before me, like an open book it beckoned me to come forward and taste of its poetry.
The sun was waving goodnight, tipping his hat in a fond farewell until our paths could cross once again tomorrow. The mood of his exit wasn’t one of forlorn departure, as if our time together had ended and therefore required tears, but rather a slight smile reserved for friends, with a whispered, “see ya later” riding on his heels just before they clicked together in an optimistic last dance number.
I rode into the sunset, but it was as if I was returning to a promise instead, a promise of light to come anew in the morn, always eager to illuminate my steps.
A promise, a song, it played upon my heart strings.
So many times I drive straight through, missing the promises of all things new, missing the promises of life and love, missing the gifts sprinkled down from above.
Too many times I stall in my journey, pulling over to wait for the blessings to come. I coast to the shoulder and cut the engine.
I wait and wait, expectantly, eagerly, often impatiently.
Where is my blessing, the promised prize you have just for me Father?
Like a little girl waiting for Daddy to return home from work with a lollipop in his pocket, I sit on the steps and shuffle my feet, waiting, waiting, for his gift to find me.
While I sit and I sit, and I wait and wait, the world keeps turning.
The birds keep chirping, the bees keep buzzing,
And the flowers do what flowers will do, blooming where they’re planting with their faces turned upward to Heaven above, open and receiving of His light and His love.
What do I miss while I sit stationary and wait? Are there blessings all around me, some small and some great?
What if the gifts are there to be found, hiding in a bird’s song or sprouting from the ground?
In the face of a flower, in the way it tips its head?
In the morning’s return, after the moon goes to bed?
There’s not really a point in letting the beauty pass you by, while you wait for something better to draw your blind eye.
The gifts are always present, a present always at hand.
Awaiting our discovery, the current promised land.
As I drove into the light of God’s promise, with the radiance of moonbeams dancing on my tear-stained cheeks, I longed to give praise where praise was due, but the weight of His goodness crushed each syllable before it could be uttered so plainly from my quivering lips.
I could only let the tears drive their course into my wind-chapped cheeks, allowing the cries of my spirit to speak the abounding love my heart could not contain, the gratitude of a receiving child finally understanding the gift from Father was there all along.