...yet another thought-provoking post stolen from Ann V.
I wash potatoes at the sink, scrubbing away earth.
Out the window, the front porch flag wrap itself in the spring breeze, the cheer, “
Count Your Blessings” faded, the edges frayed and tattered after a long winter.
I am still trying to see, trying to count them, anyways.
Perched on stools on the other side of the island, like a string of chirping sparrows, the children peck and pick at their lessons.
“A direct object receives what?”
“Move over, I don’t have enough room.”
“I remember what a lek is!”
“Hey, that is my pencil! Give it back, Shalom!”
Then comes the wail: “
Shalom scribbled on my page!”
The refrain soars higher,
“He keeps putting his feet on my stool!”
“Only because she took my eraser!”Jesus keeps company
here. The wails, the refrains, the chaotic chorus of it all—nothing sends Him seeking escape from this place. He never seeks to leave, to get away from it all—
us all. He sees something in each of these children,
in me, in all of us, something that He loves passionately, unwavering..and He stays.
I stand at the sink, scrubbing potatoes, digging out the eyes of the spuds.
I stop.
I want eyes. I want eyes to see. To see what Jesus sees here.
The flag unfurls.
And the moment gives me eyes to see, to count more blessings.
