To consider the sky.
We need look no further for awe and wonderment in this world.
Summer’s blue painted high above.
The clouds strewn across the expanse ~ scattered like white woolly sheep on the English countryside.
Fluctuating forms moving with ease and grace. Silhouettes slowly shaping. Puffs and billows. Contours of effortless change.
Then it happens…you can see it so clearly.
A cloud becomes a boy.
A dog.
A mermaid.
What joy lies therein the discovery.
…
Another day the sky looks different.
Waiting for the rain to arrive.
Weeks of drought.
Plants begin to reveal their thirst. Leaves once green and lush, now parched with pallor. Edges dry and sepia stained.
Then thunder rumbles in the distance.
A storm grows gray, rising slowly to meet the horizon.
Breezes shift and gather themselves into a wind.
Cool sweeps through the trees as the silvery side of leaves flicker back and forth. Branches tossed in eager anticipation.
The air now imbued with the smell of rain.
Damp and delicious. Delicately infused with the fragrance of a thousand blossoms who surrendered to the blustery passerby.
Then a momentary hush.
drip……..drip….drop
It begins.
A shower becomes a downpour. The intensity lifts and steadily softens. The next hours are filled with a glorious spilling.
The peaceful rhythm of the rain.
Long-awaited and welcome refreshment.
Ephesians 119:105
Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.
Lately God has been calling me to look at my life in the way that I view the sky.
To be intensely present. Living in the moment. Joyously observing. Breathing in the hours with a greater sense of wonder.
And looking forward to goodness.
His goodness.
How far this is from the way I have recently been spending my days.
…
His calling would mean a new way of living that requires patience.
A venture where no particular outcome is guaranteed. Where change takes place over an unknown period time.
His time.
A journey that cannot be traversed by way of my will alone.
No.
This will only be possible with His constant navigation. His strength. And His unwavering faithfulness.
This new way of living feels like a call to action. As if Jesus is inviting me on a long walk with Him. One of contemplation and heart conversation.
A fervent asking to give-up the old parts of me.
Like pulling out things that I’ve carried forever in my proverbial picnic basket.
The basket of my heart.
He asks me to look inside again.
But this time through His eyes.
Rather than an aimless toting, now I needed to peer beneath that checkered tablecloth of denial. Admittedly finding that it doesn’t look so picnic-like in there after all.
Buried in the dark corners it smells more like moldy bread.
Old.
Rotten.
Something that’s been in there far too long. Things wrapped in parchment, as if to preserve the pain. Hidden things that need to finally be tossed out.
For good.
My woefully wounded past.
Broken and battered dreams.
Fears of the future that I had stacked neatly inside, tightened with the twine of loneliness.
How could I ever begin to do this?
It seemed as if relinquishing all of those things would leave me empty and alone. After-all, these had been my coping mechanisms for decades. I’d held them close.
They had become a cornerstone of this weary and sorrowful identity.
Expectations embraced.
The listening to lies.
These had been my mental companions for as long as I could remember. At least I wasn’t empty-handed ~ or so the enemy had led me to believe.
But God was calling me to do just that.
To empty my hands.
To expose my heart.
How would such a change ever happen?
Isn’t that giving up?
…
Then came the ‘thistle waltz’.
Isaiah 12:2
Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid, the LORD is my strength and my song.
Romans 12:2
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.
…
I found myself on another drive between here and there.
Destinations and appointments for the day.
A classical piece was playing in the background as I followed the smooth gray road through the countryside. Winding curves and and hilly terrain, it was a poignant and picturesque journey.
One-hundred year old trees lined the roadside. A canopy of green.
Shady and cool.
The sun was brilliant that afternoon, and I could see it flickering through the branches. Dappled and bright.
The landscape was changing up ahead. An opening in the view about a half-mile from where I was. Light streaming from the sky.
The music played on and suddenly there were little flits of fuzz flying through the air.
Thistle seeds.
One. Then another…and another.
They fluttered along. Delicately dancing with cellos. Floating across the view to the sweet singing of violins.
Fluffs of flower illuminated by sunshine.
The experience was surreal and oh, so beautiful.
…
What happened next was nothing short of stunning.
When I approached that opening into the expanse of fields the music began to crescendo, and hundreds of seed tufts came drifting into view all at once.
Tangible merriment in the the warmth of that summertime breeze.
Music played and thistle seeds danced.
I couldn’t help but smile.
For I was in the midst of a ‘thistle waltz’.
In all His sovereignty, God met me where He knew I would see Him.
Moving in my everyday routine.
Meeting me where I was at.
You see, these thistle seeds held a powerful lesson for me.
A lesson in letting go.
In trusting Him.
For as those seeds let go from the dried up and withering clutches of the old stalk, they took flight. So too does He promise that our lives will flourish when we surrender to Him. To the overwhelming love of our Savior.
He is the wind to carry us!
Like those tender tufts floating, we can dance with delight when we choose to surrender our stories. The ones tucked deep inside the baskets of our heart.
Because surrender is not the same as giving-up.
Giving-up is of this world.
It is a means to a terminal end. An admittance of defeat. In giving-up, we commit to despair. To a bleakness of outcome. Internalizing loss and submission to the enemy.
But surrender is different.
Surrender is hope.
Hope in our Savior.
It is humility and reverence rolled into one. Admitting that we are limited in our ability. That we are only human. That His ways are higher than our own.
Surrender chooses faith.
Faith in a God whose love is unwavering and unstoppable. A God whose grace and mercy are unending.
Holding tight to a beloved Heavenly Father who calls us His own.
Surrender is claiming our place in His arms.
And opening ourselves wide to the splendor of His provision!
Psalm 32:8
I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch over you.
Ephesians 3:18
How wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.
…
So as we move through our days, may we come to know the abundance offered to us by the lover of our souls!
May we dig deep in the Word, filling our baskets with Scripture and Truth.
May see with wonder the One who is constantly moving in our lives.
Calling us out to draw closer to Him in beautiful promise.
To growth.
To change.
And to dance in the joy of a thistle waltz.
My Sweet Louise 
Please share your thoughts.