Monday, February 28, 2011


She taps at my window and I, a weary mother, stand at at the kitchen sink.
"Come." She says. "Come into life, come to the Spring, the earth renewed, refreshed, poured out."
I place soiled dishcloth in sink and run to rebirth in dawning glory.

Will's friend pulls in the driveway, and I feel like a crazed woman- barefoot, camera in hand, wildness all giddy and delighting. I wave timidly to the young man in the car. He just smiles. Does he know?

I said "Yes" to first blush's whisper, an invitation to come out and play and wake up with the world.

Little people stay nestled in dreams and warmth when the light dances on their walls.
And I slip out the door and take beauty by the hand.
I walk with her through meadows and over  hills, serenaded by Meadow Lark and Killdeer song.
Are they asking for Spring?

And I thought, as I held beauty's hand and reveled in her majesty,

Isn't all of life an invitation? If life is living in the present moment, and the joy is in living now, then life's sweetest juice, the extracting of life, is being open to the invitation of living.

What am I being invited to do at this very moment? Smile at a child or stranger? Say a kind word to a discouraged person? Pray for a troubled friend? Create peace in some seemingly small way?

I must ask throughout the day, "Lord, What is the invitation of this moment? What can I say 'Yes" to that will glorify you and make you known to others right now?"

What is the Invitation?

"Meanwhile there is the multitude not gifted for great things- the one- talented or two- talented people, who think they can be of little use in this world...but the truth is, no life's endowment is too small to become a real blessing in this world. Even the smallest candle or taper will shed a little brightness, if lighted and set where it can shine."
~ JR Miller

I walk the same hills, day after day, moment by moment, and there are reminders. This body I am in will pass, and my very being will settle once again to earth womb. I am mineral and bone that decays, but "Yes!" does not decay. "Yes!" does not die.

I travel home over rivulets of scooped earth with firm resolve: Today I will look for the invitation and accept. Accept. I will seek opportunities to say "yes" to others, to God.

As I write this post,  rain flows out of a laden sky. The splendor of the morning has given way to undulating grey.

The invitation isn't forever. Don't let it pass you by.