Sunlight outside of window. Eyes follow as black-capped chickadees flit around feeder. Music lifts from adjoining room. And I clean the kitchen…spinning and twirling as pans are scrubbed.
It is Saturday–and we feel her joy.
The days of this past week have not been spent…They have been invested. They rest in our bank of memories.
I pull one out. And it has already increased in value.
Love has amazing returns.
I reflect today, Dear Ones.
I do not want to wait until the memory is old and brittle; the bills cracked and worn. I take them out, and, as gold, polish them up occasionally.
As I sort through these treasures, I marvel at the wealth. I am rich in love.
It is one of the great mysteries—how the more I give away, the more I seem to have.
How blessed we are to have His.
And as I twirl and dip to this song of love, His is wrapped up in mine.
All that I have…He gives to me. I have these things because of His Great Love.
This knowledge leaves me breathless and broken.
I kneel on this kitchen floor. And at this makeshift altar I give my offering.
This life is His.
Everything is His.