Songs of the Lowly

It began a couple days ago when I found myself asking Jesus for snow.  Fluffy, powder that I could skate through, with my cross-country skis.  They were a gift from my dad, the best human gift-giver on earth, in my opinion!  I had only previously had the opportunity to take them out once, before the trails had turned to 2-inches of ice.

This morning I woke up to snow, snow, and more snow!  I could not have been more elated!

On my way through my morning routine, I found myself fretting deeply about the one obligation I had to complete before I could hit the trail.  I have come to feel great disdain for my time in Chemistry lab.  I spent hours awake in the night fidgeting and worrying over today’s lab.  I did the only thing I knew to do.  Pray, pray, pray.  Just give it up, because it will be what it will be, and there is no use worrying.

When I showed up to class, I noticed I had a much more determined attitude than I have had.  Determined not to let my super bossy lab partner have the upper hand.  I felt determined to hold my tongue, to anticipate her demeaning comments and requests, and to be ready for whatever curveballs might have come my way.  What was even more surprising was to find the class time progress with fits of laughter and giggles over the silliest things…like how a person should wear a gas-mask into Abercrombie and Fitch and how the lab we were working on was so tedious that it became life-saving to make up interesting names for the color changes of our pH solutions.  We observed and made observations of ‘Strawberry Pink’, ‘hydrated urine yellow’, and ‘Irish Green’.  We had a rockin’ table and fun chatting with others.  Midway through the lab, I rested back in my chair and realized the Lord had once again showed up, had met me where I was and had replaced anguish with joy, and turmoil with laughter.  Isn’t he a good Father?  I think so.  I think he is so interested in my life and my days, that it is truly a wonder that I could go an hour without considering his kindness!

The trails at Hartley were caked with snow.  So perfect.  So serene.  And so quiet.  The trees were blanketed as well and they were whispering, oh so softly.  One of them held a bird.  I’m not sure of its kind, but it is the kind that makes the easiest whistle.  That one bird I could hear for quite a ways.  Its song came so brightly through the falling snow that I had to stop and drink in deeply its sound.  My skis were only the second skis of the day to forge the parallel tracks, but there could not have been a sweeter powder to glide through or a lovelier scenery to behold.  Our Father is a good Father, is he not?  He hears the cries of the helpless and the despairing.  He hears from on high, the songs of the lowly.   DSCN0710

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