God's Breath

   Summer is here.  I can taste it.  The wind came ripping down from the north to clean the streets by billowing tiny tornadoes of dust outta town.  The pregnant gray clouds smelled of the sea and I longed for the rain that lost the war to the wind and skirted by without a drop.  The leaves are coming out in earnest now and I haven't written in weeks.
 My boys are so happy being outside.  They play, play, play, play, play, and resist work with such a vehemence, you'd think I was truly mistreating them when I ask for help with the dishes.  Baths make no sense when a washcloth and another time out in the dirt is to follow 10 minutes after. 
  I feel it too - the urge to be out of doors.  I've been walking the little hill beside my house.  It's a steep climb, but it's short, and at the top I see the whole valley.  It's an incredible view going up: the blue sky beckons me to the top like the peak of a roller coaster ride before the first drop.  I never knew this much sky when I was a kid.  I like the thumping of my heart as I climb the last 50 paces; I feel it throbbing in my throat and my breath is deep and cleansing - kinda like the wind.  I feel undeniably alive and there is only room for truth up there.  I talk to the One who made life and loves me; I believe it is so and I feel His favor on my head.  And we talk.  And I see flower upon flower that doesn't show from the ground: each one a new life and they are everywhere.

Back on the ground, bikes are now a thing.  They seem to come alive with the sun, like the flowers, and wind can be created on a still day just by pedaling...  We go to the bridge and find the strangest white circles in the foam - another mystery.

How are they created?  Why do they eddy here?  And why circles?  They look manufactured, but we can't explain it.  Circles...

On Sunday we blow magical rainbow circles in church as the kids recite psalm 23.  They are surrounded by the care of the Good Shepherd.  And later in the service my brave 10 year old reads the words of a hymn with me when I ask him to just before.  It is precious, holy, and truth has met innocence and hope in the same moment, and all who have hearts feel it.  All who have souls sense it, and we know that some day we will commune like this constantly - sensing the same beauty at the same moment and letting it quiet our fears.

 I have been so busy, I haven't had time to putz.  I need time to sort, and grieve and dream and plan... and to wash for goodness sake!  There has been a passing: the play I got to tell story in - in all capital letters - has been put to bed and Avonlea is erected in it's place.  Good bye story.  Thank you.

 Now I have a new hill to climb: The Canadian Badlands Passion Play.  I am weary just thinking about it as it butts it's burly head into my lap for a pet before I have time to sit down.  But it wants to begin.  It want's my first fruits, and I need a bath and a four day rest.  The dusty site is not friendly, not yet.  It's in upheaval, and so is the dynamic on the staff.  Hurt souls are protective and I'm confused where I fit.  It's too much to remain quiet in the midst of my two favorite passions: theatre and the Bible.  Story.   Thank God He and I have an understanding about what makes it all thrilling and I will hang onto that.

My son Donovan is growing as fast as a weed in an Alberta spring.  Not just physically (well, that too), but mentally, emotionally.  He can't stop creating.  He's like me: he must have freedom or he suffucates, and his ideas are endless.  He has made more light sabers than we can tend to.  His thirst for more scares me, and I start to feel irrelevant.  Is my work keeping me from playing?  From playing with my family?  I seize the moments where I can.
  This evening we went out on our bikes in the fiercest wind in months.  It nearly blew me over.  My friend Nate hates the wind, but I can't help but thrill to it.  I breathe deeper and sense it's origin.  I imagine it is God's breath and pedal harder to remain erect until I can feel His spirit at my back.  Then I feel the familiar pounding in my chest and see my glorious family in the golden light and they are all so beautiful.  Pink cheeks and breathless glee on the tramp and giggles and agile flips, and I admire as I stand in my shoes on the ground.  Next time I will jump.  Today I will soak it in and store it in my memory of Gratitude.  Next time I will pee with laughter in tiny spurts... when I'm prepared.
  The boys are sliding into slumber now, but Weston is restless.  He doesn't like the fan on and Donovan loves it - the air circulating and the constant sound; the stirring and the fresh.  Another cleansing.
  There is a beautiful sunset.  We're nearing the time when the tiny glow circle sets in the arch of the cemetery on the hill - usually solstice.  My tummy is full with ice cream and the frustrations of the morning threaten to return... but I will walk the hill again, and feel the wind in my face and the throbbing in my heart and His pleasure on head, and I will marvel at what it means to be alive.