Joining The Nester and hundreds of others for a 31 Days of… series. Joyfully reading there and writing here for 31 Days. Would you join me? It would be a gift.
Yesterday I wrote an introduction of sorts for this series. You can read about it here.
Ordinary. Ooh la la ordinary. A new ordinary. Different but same, changed in the blink, because of the eyes.
The eyes of the heart.
In the monday, small case, days and the plain and mundane. There is no such thing.
You turn a monday, small case day on its head and shake it gently until the coins fall from the pockets. And the sparkle is revealed. The something of value is discovered.
Discovered because it sat there all along. Stumbled upon, tripping you up in the wonder of it all. The plain turns to fancy and the ordinary becomes extra so extra-ordinary.
Small is grand and simple is elegant, and the lense turns the world upside down. Its wild and wonderful.
Its an ordinary day in an ordinary life.
The dull becomes bright. The eyes frame the mundane with the frame of wonder and discovery.
And there in the middle of the mundane small case monday, is the height of the unspeakable beautiful.
She walks her monday walk and she breathes her monday air and she turns her monday corner.
And with nothing more than a change in perspective, of measuring the abundant and marking the glass to the line of the full, not half, not whole, but spilling over, she sees her black and white before oz world turned upside down as the colors are thrown on the life canvas.
With reckless abandon.
She sees the ordinary, beautiful.
She hears the ordinary, beautiful.
She comes to see all in the ordinary. Seeing as Alice saw. Wonderful whimsy in the cat and the child and the tea-cup.
A laugh is eeked out. The imagination is sparked.
But it was really there, all along. No imagination is needed. Not really.
The life-art pops and Wonder and Glory are revealed. Just everywhere.
If you look close.
When a dandelion is as a peony or a rose. Beautiful is in the plain.
Simple looks exquisite and marvelously faceted because her lense of love and thanks compounds the what just simply is.
Brown is sepia, dinner is fellowship, a friend, a life-giver in a conversation dipped in grace.
A spider-web is art, a pile of mess is the heart beat of the home.
The weary spirit is we lived with zest in celebration of a marriage.
And the owl and the pussycat take a ring from the nose of a pig. Its grace. It’s all they need.
Well that and honey. And Christopher Robin has bear. And the woods. A friend and a forest seem simply enough.
While a note, a call, a word, a smile carry extravagant small case monday love. Notes of grace, sing a song to the aching broken.
Shine light in the dark shadowy.
Steady a shakey gaping wound. With a word, a whisper.
For you and her and they and we and the ones who walk down-trodden and dejected.
In the black and white, seemingly graceless places of pain. Where you can color it Hope and color it Healed when you speak the words He gave.
She wipes the tear that cleared the way. After the poured out sorrow. And sees the river of joy, wet streams of Living Joy, running rapidly right behind.
And all the burlap, rough brown ragged wrapping of the moments right there,
They shine like silk, soft and beautiful, wrapped around the small case monday,
Through the lense of the not so ordinary after all.
And she continues counting, quietly today, but counting…. the gifts in the ordinary that really are extraordinary.
After all. If you count it all Joy.