Ma Wa Gray

Its Saturday afternoon. Warm winter sun streams across my bed. I've slept, undisturbed for over an hour. The laundry is drying. The children are somewhere. We have no plans for Sunday. 

 A veil of mist lifts itself off the frozen landscape. Mountains are resplendent in snow and we are approaching the last warm outfits in our cupboards. A new season waits in the roots while the queen of winter takes her final bow. 

 Last night I watched my brother's daughter on stage with my daughter while my sister's son, who was sitting next to me, shouted loudly, "That looks like Hopey!" I will never get over this blessing. 

Sometimes after a season of dramatic change comes a moment of introspection where one can sees the the way God lines up disconnected things to make them hugely connected. We look at the one section of our spider web lives and all we see is cords, and sticky stuff amd capture. And then when we take a step back, breathe, and zoom put we see that the cords that we thought were chocking us were actually the threads that anchor us to a far bigger and more beautiful picture. Intricate, woven and divinely made. 

You know you're getting old when the thought of your newly installed linen cupboard gives you more joy than the thought of a rip roaring party. 

  The man who made a play about a man who made silent movies met the nurse who cared for the man who made the silent movies when he was dying. In their meeting she remained silent for her own reasons. But sometimes silence is all that matters.