Reflecting ...

Ken guessed he was "taking a moment," a phrase that his eldest daughter was prone to overuse lately. He'd never admit to it though. Maybe because of his daughter, the phrase struck him as vaguely feminine and, besides, "taking a moment" just wasn't like him anyway. He imagined that someone had to stand still in order to take a moment and, frankly, he had built a reputation based on not being willing to do that. "The world won't stand still for you," his dad had said, urging him to be aggressive. "I won't stand for that," he himself had said when his own kids were challenging the rules he had set down for them. That way and in numbers of other ways as well, he'd been fast-paced and decisive for years.

But, if he ever were to do such a thing, to "take a moment," this would be the kind of moment he would take, he thought. From here on this rise if he shaded his eyes with his hand, he could see the green in the distance. Nick was a few feet away, teeing off, not paying attention to anything except his ball. He would be next. And usually, that would be the only thing on his mind too, but instead, here he was, soaking it in.

The beginning of an afternoon of golf. Shoot, the beginning of a whole season when you could get away to golf or fish or even climb the bleachers to watch the home team maybe hit one over the fence if you had a mind to. Spring relief. The blessed experience of getting through another winter, when entertainment only came in frozen varieties. Ice-this, snow-that. Ice hockey, snow boarding, ice fishing, snowmobiling...if you took a moment in the winter, you'd likely freeze-frame that way until spring.

But this here was a moment that would thaw the coldest of guys. Gorgeous weather. Birds cutting angles across the sky, taking the shortest route to get where they were going. Crab apples about to burst with blossoms. Sunshine with heat in it for a change. A strong grip. A sure stride. Feeling your muscles stretch.

And that other feeling, what was that feeling? Being grateful. But not the Thanksgiving-Day sort of gratitude when you dutifully figured out your list, he thought. No, this was a welling-up sort of gratitude, that began somewhere deep when you didn't even realize it, like a subterranean stream of water, pressured by the weight of the earth, finally finding its artesian pipeline to the surface. Whoosh! What a day!

How good it is to sing praises to our God, how pleasant and fitting to praise him! ...Sing to the Lord with thanksgiving...He covers the sky with clouds; he supplies the earth with rain and he makes grass grow on the hills. He provides food for the cattle and for the young ravens when they call (Psalm 147: 1; 8-9).

"Ken, you're up."
"Ken?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just taking a moment, ah, er ... just a minute."
Then, quietly,
"Thank you, Lord. You do good work. Swell day. Thanks."

Much Grace for all your moments,
Pastor Shirley