I’m bird watching. Rose chested grosbeaks and yellow finches are draining black safflower seeds and thistle from feeders. Hummingbirds are starting to circle
—dipping their sword straight beaks into glistening sweet water. Fluffy baby bunnies snuggled down a hole in our back yard. My daughter Laura brought crisp green lettuce with roasted squash and avocado to our door for dinner. My fifteen pound black Shih Tzu is curled up in a fleece throw snoring on the floor. Leaf littered branches are bowing to the breeze and I am aching to bend toward the Divine Nature.
Too much complaining and not enough praying is killing my desire for the Divine. For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, “Papa.”
It’s crystal clear how I am set to focus on fatal. When David is late I wonder if the ambulance has reached him. When my mother calls funeral plans begin. Tax time brings up bankruptsy. Tragedy triggers hopelessness. Any hitch heading my way is sure to crash. It’s a knee jerk reaction I aim to overcome.
Jesus talks about being perfectly trained. John tells of practicing righteousness. I hate the gym, but I’m going in. My faith is flabby. I intend to work my spiritual muscles over the next forty days
—trusting God will renew my mind, that I may walk according to the Spirit and not according to the flesh.
I’m going to need accountability
—which is why I’m recording it here.
My first exercise: take mental notes on the beauty of God. Like jumping jacks, I’m starting out slow and obvious.
Here goes everything.