I wish you could see the crepe myrtles.
Where God is in the details.
Something wonderful unfolds when you allow yourself to slow down and notice the details. Years ago I had a writing instructor who told her class repeatedly: God is in the details. She said this to remind us that if our writing was going to speak to our reader’s spirit it had to be rich with imagery. Overflowing with noticing.
I’m not always very good at this. This morning my three-year-old son and I were rushing to get ready for a bike ride. In the tangle to find shoes, apply sunblock, and locate his bike helmet, we hadn’t noticed that a thunderstorm had rolled in until we got out the front door.
The rain was a giant pause button, holding us suspended. We sat on the front porch for a full twenty minutes watching the rain, smelling the intoxicating petrichor (that’s really the name for that fresh-dirt aroma). For those moment, I entered a calm peace.
I wish you could see
how the crepe myrtle petals
fall in the rain,
peel away, let go,
like pink snow.
May your surrender
be just as beautiful.
It’s my hope for you that you’ll seize similar moments of surrender this week to find where stillness and beauty merge. It’s a wondrous place, a detailed place, where God is.
interesting that on Monday as I drove away from the place where we had sheltered from the hurricane, with windows open, I inhaled that smell of fresh damp earth all around me and instantly that word popped into my head, I thought, "petrichor". And then I thought to myself, who can I share this with that will even care or understand what I am feeling right now. There's a certain invincibility that comes from staring down a huge storm that is barreling straight for you and you dodge that bullet. I was exceedingly grateful in that moment. Thank you.