I look out from my morning fortress, snuggled in my blanket, cradling coffee and sipping life. I wish for deep thoughts, but they allude me here. Sometimes it’s everything just to watch and listen.
As I wait, Sun’s first rays shine bright their spotlight on dreams come true right at my feet and though covered in Winter’s Wait, I can still see them: my lawn, my perennials, my walkway turned porch, my raised garden… even my sweet peas. I see the cedar flowerbox mounted and painted fresh, the burning bushes and the 10 year pathway lined with boulders I now call friends.
Each place my eye scans I see a dream with its own life story — big or small, no matter, they played out all the same: a seed planted, a tentative wobbling step, a tear here, a despair there, and that long road of wondering “Will this ever be?” Then, always, the miraculous in sight – the end. It is finished. And it is good.
Each dream was a hope-filled ember that refused to be snuffed out. Some barely hung on for life, yet they did.
… and here and now, they stand.
Fulfilled. Shimmering. Reflections of hope.
I look out from my morning fortress, snuggled in my blanket, cradling coffee and sipping life. And quietly, I am reminded: I need the morning.
I need the feel of the rising sun washing fresh my hope spun dreams.
I need this beginning to scrub clean the thankfulness.
I need the Sweet Reminder who whispers true, “Listen closely, the Father’s voice calls from His Garden’s path.”
“Keep it simple sweetheart.” I hear him call.
“You can do it, Honey” I hear him cheer.
“I believe in you, Punkin'”
This morning I hear him clear.
I’m a garden of the Father’s planted dreams and I am living His dream come true….