My friend Kimberly asked me to share over at her place where I found Holy Ground. It is a link-up, so we'd love for you to share your most sacred of places as well...Join us there?
Then the lovely Sarah Bessey asked the question what is saving us, right now? and I knew these moments, sacred in their simplicity, holy in the ordinary, are what save me.
also? Just write what a beautiful direction..
Our 15 hour car ride brought us through the Cumberland Gap, weaving slowly up the ribboned roads of the Appalachian mountains to my father-in-law's house, perched eye level with the treetops. We unpacked our cramped limbs from our seats and promptly found our way to our beds just before the sun broke the horizon.
With the promise of seven days of uninterrupted time as a family we meandered through our routines – no clocks to adhere to, places to be, and only the lake welcoming us at the edge of the dock.
I felt myself exhale, let go of the constant pull of forward driving days and thoughts to let myself sink into the beauty of time allowed to be still. And as is the power of staying present, my eyes began to see all of the holy pooling at my feet.
Holy came in paper bowls, bed-heads and the passing of cereal boxes over top of the boy so excited for the day that he was already wearing his snorkel gear so when an adult made the nod of the affirmative, he could race down that hill and be the first in.
Holy splashed between us every lazy afternoon, burning hot across the crowns of our heads as our arms and backs crinkled sun-dried lake upon our skin. It came masked in sandwiches whose crusts, discarded by the four year old nibbler, became fish food and cause of delight.
I watched as holy was exploded by men, whose love language is different then mine, painted multicolored love across the sky. It sat brilliant in the reflection of the fireworks and pride dancing on my children’s upturned faces.
It circled around a solitary lamp each night, three generations slapping cards on the table. Voices rising in fake protest or the sweetest of victories, sharing hands and our stories while the stars winked their silent approval.
I found it tucked up tight next to my children in the bunk-beds their daddy used to call his own. Contentment tangled at their feet in the piles of old Pound Puppy and Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtle sheets.
Holy was there at 3 am, eight hours after the storm rolled through, taking the power with it – leaving in its wake an uncomfortable four year old girl, stripped down to only her princess undies trying to stay cool. Even in the close to 100 degree stagnant heat, when she needs comfort, she still seeks my arms in the dark and presses my forehead to hers to find the rhythm of sleep.
When the morning came for us to leave our summit, I breathed in deep, letting the glory of those moments spent in quiet living tuck up deep into my bones. I let my head rest back against the seat as our car hugged the bending roads back down the mountain;
and I smiled at the miles ahead.