Shoes and Rain on a Dry Mountain

The face of the mountain is a cacophony of forest green and toasted brown. She is thirsty. My soul glints brown too; I cannot write, and I don't know why. You've not heard from me, because I haven't heard from myself.

Yet, the forest is a-flutter with birdsong. Perhaps in their DNA they know that these things pass and rain will soak the forest floor again, so they need not waste time grieving. Or, perhaps, they are crying out in choral prayer, for rain.

The kettle still hums and my husband still perches on couch's edge, strapping on shoes that prompt me to ask if he is leaving. For 26 years, his shoe donning behavior has confused me, striking uncertainty. In my house, we only put on shoes when we were leaving. In his, shoes went on every morning, regardless of plans. You'd think 26 years would be a teacher, and I'd no longer ask the well worn question, "are you going somewhere?" How many times have I heard the reply offered with a smile and a shake of his head, "just putting my shoes on"?

And so, I am assured and content as he settles back into his spot on the couch next to me, as he has done for two and half decades, wondering why I keep asking.

I pick up the daily reading:

Matthew 15:32-39, King James Version (KJV)

32 Then Jesus called his disciples unto him, and said, I have compassion on the multitude, because they continue with me now three days, and have nothing to eat: and I will not send them away fasting, lest they faint in the way.

33 And his disciples say unto him, Whence should we have so much bread in the wilderness, as to fill so great a multitude?

34 And Jesus saith unto them, How many loaves have ye? And they said, Seven, and a few little fishes.

35 And he commanded the multitude to sit down on the ground.

36 And he took the seven loaves and the fishes, and gave thanks, and brake them, and gave to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude.
37 And they did all eat, and were filled: and they took up of the broken meat that was left seven baskets full.

38 And they that did eat were four thousand men, beside women and children.

39 And he sent away the multitude, and took ship, and came into the coasts of Magdala. (KJV-Public Dolmain)

Thursday, there was rain. My Facebook feed filled up to overflowing, with photos of water rushing down mountain village roads. And yet, today, I gaze on glints of forest brown and despair, having forgotten. And so, I am gently reminded. It is not my job to wonder from whence the nourishment will come. It is my job to continue with Him daily, to settle in before the woodstove beside a husband who will not venture elsewhere, and to trust that the birdsong will remain.

Pax Christi Dear Ones,
May you always find childlike trust in our risen Lord,
~Michelle