Life Under the Fog

Sometime during the night, all color  drained from the sky, leaving  the morning blanketed in fog. It’s left me feeling like earth dragged the heavens down to its level, blurring lines between here and there. Shrubs close to the ground and some lower branches of pine add shades of green and brown to the dull landscape, reminding me there’s still some life under this gray shroud.

Not my kind of day. I prefer seeing far ahead to tiptoeing, inching along in dark of night or dull fogged-in day. Reminds me somewhat  of, “Now we see but a poor reflection, as in a mirror, but then face to face.  Now I know in part…”(I Corinthians 13:12).  That’s how it is with Jud some days.  Too many for my liking.  I struggle to see his face.  I want to shout through the fog like some crazed air traffic controller, “Come in!  It’s safe to land.”  Then I swallow my scream and readjust the cockeyed mirror of my dreams.

I know life’s meant to be lived, not merely imagined.  Time to get on with the duties of the day.  See what I can see.  Do what I can do.  Live and grow within the circle of grace I’ve been given this day. Live without mumbling  or wishing for something or some one that cannot be. Grumbling comes like fog to my spirit, dragging heaven down to my level.  Not good.

Sounds of Luke and Basil interrupt my downward spiral. Suddenly, their laughter splits open the dull of the day, revealing more than scrub bushes and low hanging pine growing under the fog.  People. A burst of joy  from two Grands reminds me that there’s always more happening in the dull, the dark, in those hidden places where heaven and earth seem to blur.  Life goes on  even with low or no visibility.

Catching some of their joy, I find myself praising the God of grumblers and  grateful. The God of me at my best and worst.  Praise to the God who loves and grows both in a garden of Grace.

 

 

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