The sea casts her white diamond shimmer in early morning sun under a string of sailboat sillouettes. All of creation awakens to her peace. Our children run a stretch of time along her crystal coast. Those dandelion days scattering seeds that float through years like parachutes falling from cerulean sky.
And the mothers, we stand on shore linking arms under their drift. Pray in the wait, wear their downy crown of spores, watch for ships return on the horizon. We hold on to those dandelion days, place them in the locket of remembrance around our heart.
Those seeds germinate and multiply through days that swelter, freeze and hang hammock in steady breeze and He sends shepherds to cultivate the tender places.
A shepherd dressed in lapis blue and gold dangling beauty from her wrists. She carries the crook of a Catholic school principal. It lies beside her chair at home now but a shepherd never stops tending to her sheep.
When she enters the upstairs room of reunion among those who ran barefoot on sandy shores of childhood, they wander like sheep from their places around the white linen. Return to her familiar embrace. Because sheep follow the voice of the one they trust to love them.
Aren’t we all sheep in need of a shepherd?
Our kids trade pink bows, high tops and plaid jumpers for boots that push pedals and hands that steer wheels to destiny now. They bow their heads low in circle before raising a fork to the mouth, offer thanks to the one Holy God without prodding from the crook.
Their spontaneous words under boisterous laughter and conversation invite a holy hush, a sacred invasion among mothers seated nearby. We wipe our eyes in unison.
Because in the worry of wait along the shore – while navigating balanced diets, after school activities, and harsh words spoken during recess – we remember that His love over them, over us, is a shoreless sea. And these lambs we watch grow into sheep; they will carry crooks of their own.
Give ear, O my people, to my teaching;
incline your ears to the words of my mouth!
I will open my mouth in a parable;
I will utter dark sayings from of old,
things that we have heard and known,
that our fathers have told us.
We will not hide them from their children,
but tell to the coming generation
the glorious deeds of the LORD, and his might,
and the wonders that he has done.
Psalm 78:1-4 ESV
Counting gifts with Ann for Multitudes on Monday:
- For spiritual mentors.
- The gift of pastoring a parish of people who still love us like family, even though we live four hours away now.
- For generous friends who give a beach house for a weekend of celebration.
- Safe travels for the teenager’s first long distance drive behind her parents.
- Peace along the journey, for this mothers heart.
- The pelican that shows up to pose for pictures while I sip coffee with a friend.
- A drive with sky like paint brush of violet blue.
- Waking up to shimmering ocean and the caw of seagulls.
- For the friend that came along, her sweet spirit.
- The bag of fudge and the way it tastes the same to her even now.
- The pizza they ate for lunch at the Catholic School and the way it still smells the same and makes their heart happy.
- The envelopes from friends with checks inside for her mission trip to Jamaica.