Edgy. I live on the edge, the glorious edge, where every day I am astonished—I never take it for granted—at the beauty, the success, the hint of the hereafter that surround me. For in all areas of my life I find myself balanced on the cusp of wonder. Rising from my bed in the predawn hours of the newest day, I finagle my clothes, flip on the coffee pot, and settle into my favorite chair in the dining room with its wide windows that look across the chasm of Lake Gregory to the trees of the alpine forest that rise as a standing army on the other side. I read, think, pray, write, contemplate, cry sometimes, and frequently take on a heavy feeling of compassion and concern, and my chest compresses, and at times my heart breaks, but there is nothing I can do about that. I smile occasionally, though, at what I read, and sometimes at my own thoughts. Jerry comes and I pour his coffee, or he pours his own, and he sits in his chair . . .
“It’s just over 70 miles to Palmdale,” was the first thing I said to him this morning as he stood by the coffee pot, “but it will take us about two hours to get there.” He sweetly grunts, (his becoming fully awake is a slow process that can’t be rushed) and hugs and kisses me.
Other points of wonder around me go to political insanities which daily assault my listening ears, disappointment that my beautiful squash plants produced only gigantic yellow blossoms but no zucchini or yellow squash, and discussions with Jerry about buying some kind of screen to secure over the tubs and pots where I will again plant spring-flowering bulbs. The screen bit is in hopes of keeping the mountain critters, throughout the winter, from filling their little bellies with dinners of un-blossomed tulips, hyacinths, and allium.
Drops of anointing will splash about me during the next many hours, for we are off to Lancaster today to help celebrate with Pastor Sean Manzano and his family the 7th anniversary of the founding of Rushing Wind Worship Center.
We’re leaving early–around noon–for I want to take a little time to photograph the Mormon Rocks and the trains that are always chugging around that area. The massive rock formation is named for a group of Mormons who traveled through the Cajon Pass in covered wagons on their way from Salt Lake to southern California. We’ll get to our hotel room in time to rest a bit before the service tonight.
I live on the cusp of wonder. Tonight I will sit with life-long friends in a congregation of Apostolic believers, and we will worship and sing and listen and talk. There will be a rush of the Spirit of God, and we will clap and rejoice, and around me will settle as points of light the holy presence of God.
We’ll be tired tonight, Jerry and I, and I will lie on my bed ready to fall asleep, and as I often do, I will think of the comfort of sleep and rest. . . and will anticipate the morning, another day on the edge of wonder.