Color It Joyful

The dessert before the main course, stealing some crumbs of Hope and Joy from the Easter Banquet.  Early, too early. Maybe.

Dipping into the Easter chocolate as a child before church on that glorious morning.  Perhaps.

The hot pink banner, the purple font.

The music.

The proclamation of whats to come.

The stories told and retold of God’s Grace ifuse life with the Easter New.

She sits in my home, the life notes spilling out and over lips like music from the saxaphone jump and jive.  Eye ball to eye ball.  She testifies to God’s amazing weaving of intiricate detail.  Thread upon thread He has begun what only He can do.

He is blessing and working in her life.  She sees.  She tells.  Her smile would have told it all, but there was more.

The embryonic work, the new of her life and life’s work fragile yet growing in Love.

The metaphor of her new life is of a baby.  Still in utero.  Not yet birthed.  My mother’s heart can wrap understanding around this picture of the fragile nature of each new part being formed in Love, with Care.

He is growing it with carefulness and tenderness.  And they, called to this, witness each tender shoot of the new.  Pushing forth and out into the world, like lime green life stalks press through chocolate soil to present their bouquet of color.

The story fragments of up to this point form a beautiful extravagant mosaic of His faithfulness. Each fragment, each shard of pottery from the Potters hand forming a masterpiece.  Stand back a bit and focus your lense of love and its clearly there.

Her story. Its hers.  Its His.  Its ours.  Its mine.

Beautiful shards and pieces and fragments coming together over  time to form the masterpiece.

The love of this women for her new baby in utereo, this church plant, is a wondrous thing. And I sit eyeball to eyeball, resting on the babysteps and sharing the joy.

And baby downy woodpecker interrupts and turns our attention.  Our gazes shifts to the downy new with a swipe of red.  A breathe, a break in this conversation is ushered in by feathers on feeder.

His new and his beauty catch us up in his moment.

His hunger at feeder at needed seed for his growth slow us down.

He lingers and builds strength, allowing us to watch.  And we do.

Partakers in the beauty of this fleeting stage of his developement.  We women.  We freeze our eyes on wing and beak and wisp of red.

And we talk of our little lime green shoots. Her three and my three. Growing and going on.  Some walking out His plan for after college, in college, heading to college.  We bear witness of their growth and we take in where we are.

Color it all joy.

Name it all His Grace.

Cherish each shard and fragment of this life, these pieces, these gifts.  Each were it only a single piece would be abundant life.  But there are hundreds and thousands of life gifts. Wrapped. There to unwrap.

We break bread together and we gaze too at my Easter tree.  Each wooden egg a symbol of her story of new.  Embyonic. Breaking through the shell, life moments. The whats to come and what has come.  New life.  New beginnings.

And they tell of my story and your story too.

Color it JOY. Colored by Grace. Bold and bright and new.

Unwrap His Joy, His Gifts of this day.

Looking toward the Cross, looking toward Easter Day.

But waiting too for all He does in this waiting.  He does great things in the waiting.

Coloring it Joyful in the waiting.

Gracefully yours,

wynnegraceappears

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