Yesterday and the day before  revealed new mysteries of timing. And showed how life will unveil  tenderness and joy in the most unexpected moments. How the pulsing of a  day like any other, a breathing in and out day, can move from a cacophony of disharmonious clanging cymbals and banging drums to a sweet whispered lullaby of perfect harmony.

Yesterday we dodged the rain. It came in sheets, thunderous banging and torrential downpours. So we got into the rhythm of its dance. And moved with nature, less with self. Realized that circumstances and external conditions can change things and shape days, but won’t define us.  We longed for the sun and a day on the water, playing in the salt and sea.

Yesterday teased us with her starts and stops. So we synchronized our living around the rain. 

We sought  breaks from the feeling of entrapment staged by  the downpours of rain, in torrents it came. We shifted Sunday paradigms and rhythms and kept holding out for a break in the storm.

So much of our lives is mirrored in these moments of stormy living. Seeking shelter from the down pours. Wondering when the gray will step aside and let the blues pick up their brushes and paint the skies a watercolor canvas of lapis and turquoise, sapphire and indigo.

Some days the passion feels dull and lifeless, the writing doesn’t come, the news is bleak, a wounding comes our way in the form of words, the deal doesn’t go through, the work is hard, relationships are bruised — thunder claps and ominous clouds roll in.

But in the midst of the  grays, I was given a gift. One of meeting my neighbor, an eighty year old poet. She and I chatted, I gave her a pie I had made. And as often happens when kindred spirits meet, we savored the common interests and threads in our lives. And laughed and talked writing and poetry and of gathering together often to just be and write.

I have a new friend.  A poet friend. A writing friend. And she came right in the midst of a storm. And I told her her house is my happy place. That when I look her way from my window, I smile. And know I am beginning  a new friendship with one who lives  her eightieth year of life. I expect we will be friends for life. And I hope it will be a very long friendship indeed.

Finally, there was a break. Yesterday. There always is  potential for hope. It came. Mercifully.  After the rain.

The wet and damp still  permeated our world. But hungry for the sun and a short boat ride, we made a break for it.

We adjusted. We shifted our expectations. Lowered them a bit. A glimpse of sunlight gave us new perspective.  So we launched and set off into the world. The way it was. The way it is. Accepting  imperfect conditions.

Isn’t it beautiful when  we  are surprised by joy. And unexpected  beauty rides in on the black sky, singing a song of hope and new mercy. We met up with friends, laughed at the funny story our neighbor told me of taking her dog to church. He followed her there and  so they sat in the back together. She made an impromptu leash and allowed him to stay. Amos the silly white rescue dog, seeking companionship. And giving an otherwise  rainy day a whimsical and comical twist.

Aren’t we all little Amos’. Don’t we want to be nestled, included, held and loved.

The storm brought cool new air  as the sky showed off  her  collection of grays. And an odd prevailing moodiness lifted. The tempest in the air brought gusts and wind currents rocked us as we leaned into the windsong of the dusk. We will always remember the night we took this ride which turned Maine cool on the eve of a Southern July day.

On Saturday a chilly word rode in on a telephone line, bringing a storm into my world. And I was met with a memory of how I had hurt another. The clouds moved in quickly and I wrestled with me and with my words and theirs.

What a mystery a well timed word can be.  Because a few hours later healing  came in the form of written  words  delivering  encouragement and hope and signaling a new beginning.

If you stand in the morning, at a certain time, you can catch the most glorious light. It hits the hydranga which have just come in to lighten the mood and spill some beauty on the counter where the soul of the house will always live. The kitchen. Stand and catch the perfect morning light. And see glory come down. There is a mystery to this falling, more like a liquid pouring into a room. Light  changes everything. It reveals, it transforms. Lifting our mood, changing the colors, waking us up.

And so often  spilling in at just the right time.

And aren’t we all like my neighbor  dog Amos, longing for love, perfectly timed words of encouragement and affirmation. For love to shine down and scoop us up. Forgiveness extended and grace revealed no matter how scraggly, lost and limping we appear. And don’t we hunger for  a place to sit in church, one that welcomes and invites, even the rescue dog, sweet Amos.

How beautiful the Holy mysteries of this perfectly imperfect life. In and out of storms. Always seeking the Light.

Thank you Lord for anchoring us through the storms and tethering us to You in the midst of all that rocks our fragile world.

And  help us love an Amos in our world today, with the Love that carries us through the storms. And to  seek  love,  cultivate love, nuture love  even  in the companionship of a wise new friend.

Joining my friend Laura Boggess at Laura Boggess dot com for her Playdates at The Wellspring