A dam burst this spring, the deluge sweeping away the usual chaos of sports practices, year-end parties, award ceremonies, and final exams. Staring around with bewildered confusion at its muddy aftermath, I found an unexpected and dazzlingly green patch of life amid the muck: the gift of time.
We sat in hammocks with popsicles. We read chapter books aloud, sprawled out lazily on the back porch. We poked around in creeks and hunted for snakes in the park. And in these newly discovered margins of time, we revelled in family and caught our breath.
Creativity bloomed. My 7th grade daughter, lover of all natural sciences, poured over bird identification guides with a new earnestness. Armed with a satchel, binoculars, and a notebook, she began taking early morning walks to record sightings and calls of neighborhood birds. Even now, her notebook is filling up with illustrations of black-capped chickadees and Mississippi kites.
Watching her color at the kitchen table, her brow furrowed and three books spread-eagle in front of her, I can’t help but praise God for His regenerative grace.
Even in the midst of uncertainty, I can triumphantly proclaim,
“Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.” (Psalm 63:7)