I said to him,

So, I should clean the blueberries for freezing today? And the beans?

I was thinking past the question already.

{You know the drill?} I do.

Other things on the agenda- oh- so- important.

Groceries.

The budget.

Email to send.

That bill to pay.

I had wanted to roast that defrosted chicken and make sure I put gas in the car.

Snapping beans and shucking things :::: sifting twigs and picking leaves:::

out of berries just didn’t seem to make the cut.

At least on a busy-catch-up-chore day?

{……. like today?}

On his way out, thermos in hand, steaming cup in mine, he said yes with a kiss and

if you can, take some blueberries to my Nana, too, if you get a chance?

She wants to make muffins like she used to.

{when she slowed and bent time in half in a blueberry meadow under the sun on a late-Summer day}

a breath, deep, my mind was traveling away and speeding up and racing

to a cup of cold coffee

left on the table where my quiet time with Him should have- could have been.

This day was His.

…This day was His?

He would do as He pleased.

Take it, Lord.

Help me make it Yours.

                                          Always.

Certainly the added bump of blueberries should not put my day over the top… in danger of disarray?

I thought a nice visit with Nana would be good for me and the kids, they always bring a smile to her aging face and put a little spring in her aching step.

So I did those other things…

The bill, the cereal bowl, the chicken was quickening the kitchen to a home spun warmness

and the clothes were pinned to the line.

… all reminding me of something I yearned for, but couldn’t reaching-fingertipping touch?

Kids were out in the sandbox now after chores, pirating the last of the treasure and building castles knocked down by dragons

and the day was graced with a bittersweetness of time passing and standing still

and I stood with the screen door open seeking the slow-down soaking-in.

Oh! The beans… blueberries!

I grabbed the cold coffee’s cup from the table

and dumped it

down the drain…

The porch step was drenched in sunlight and so I sat there with my berry bowl and my working hands and the laughter and bantering of my little ones lovely in my ears.

{Thankful.}

Family, church, chores, schooling, dinner, phone calls, health, Bible, ordering, weather, schedule, calendar, painting, reading, sleeping, waking…

all ringing and swirling in the sun.

And the beans:::

The berries::: the

Picking,

Snapping,

Sifting,

Separating,

Sorting,

My mind wandered far…

{close?}

Picking,

Snapping,

Sifting,

Separating,

Sorting,

My heart slowed deep,

Picking,

Snapping,

Sifting,

Separating,

Sorting,

My ears listened keen,

Picking,

Snapping,

Sifting,

Separating,

Sorting,

It was the rhythm of slow beauty surfacing,

Picking,

Snapping,

Sifting,

Smiling,

With my fingers knowing their course from bowl to bean to bag

Picking,

Snapping,

My mind was wandering…

But…

It was roaming:::

::: closer to Him…

Separating,

Sorting,

Sifting,

:::: out

the necessity from the list,

Separating::

the essential from the culture-warped urgent,

Picking::

the sweet-slow from the crazy-busy,

Sorting::

the moment from the blur,

And there it was,

The thing I pant after some days long,

found there in the pick-snap of a bean and

the willed- working of the berries,

the thing we miss in this nowadays,

the thing that slipped through our fingers from an age ago,

when food was worked

and mothers sat still

near Him

while a life-rhythm

of snapping beans

and sorting real from unworthy

graced their days,

and the melody of a hymn hung on their hearts

and those hearts held close to His,

while their hands worked slow and thankful and intentional and purposeful:::

and for a blink,

I saw it there on the step…

when the bean-snapping mundane was anything but…

it was why you see a slight smile on a berry-sifting mama’s face…

those moments rendered slow and rhythmic and deliberate:::

to slow the waning wandering wicked- whipping of the day

to listen

to feel

to be

with the One who made her heart

to beat

after His.

 

He restores my soul… +Psalm 23