Look at the time. It is 6:15AM, 9.5 degrees Farenheit as I write this. I had to get up early this morning (I've been up since 4:45) to bring my kids to their school. They, along with approximately 100 of their closest friends and teachers, are on their way to Washington, DC, to participate in the March for Life. It's awfully cold, and I was a bit concerned that they wouldn't have enough layers. But I supposed I didn't give them enough credit for giving winter the appropriate respect that it deserves. I pray that they stay warm, have a good time, and do what they are going there for. Agree with them or not, they are standing up for their beliefs. And I respect that more than they would ever know.
What prompted me to write this was my return home. I live in the sticks - not a lot of interference from traffic, street lights, and car exhaust. When I pulled into my driveway, I stopped, took a minute, and just looked up. The sky was awesome. It was still dark but it was clear. I had no light pollution to speak of, and the stars were incredible. I felt almost as though I could reach up and grab onto any one of them.
I had one of those unusual moments of clarity: God was speaking to me, saying to me that it's okay to just stop every once in a while and appreciate the things around me that sometimes I take for granted. It doesn't matter how cold it is, and it doesn't matter how much I have to do. Nor does it matter whether or not there are pulls and stresses on me from outside of where we are. He is always there. And, as I've been told, He has big shoulders, and He knows us all. And if we look up and out, sometimes we get the best look at what is within.
That was the lesson taught to me for today. It was a simple one, but it made me feel humble - the world around us is a big place. But it also gave me great peace.
In the 15 or so minutes that I've been sitting here at my writer's garret, chronicling the experience I had this morning, I'm currently witness to another: dawn is slowly starting to break over the city of Manchester. From my vantage point 5 miles west of Elm Street, I am enjoying the view.
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