While nestled into my favourite spot in the fluffy weathered couch, I contemplate. Simply one faint sound of the day now remains, the ticking of the clock. Its faithful companion? Me, and a family heirloom, the candlestick telephone which symbolizes the release of a family generational gift. It stands there waiting to be picked up and together with time to be activated. These two covenant friends are constant reminders that ought always remain together. They speak of time to share, to communicate and to contemplate.
I love this special place in front of the large pure white window box with walls enfolding me in golden hues that seem to glow with the Father’s protective heart. It is familiar and friendly with an unending invitation to indulge my soul and spirit in the womb of such a welcoming atmosphere. And it seems as the years go by my memory returns there even when I am in another land. It’s a place of faith, a substance, because it has a home in my heart. A place of trysting full of dreams.
Like any tradition or custom done with willful joy, this capsulated adventure has become as natural as hibernation but as necessary as human sustenance to endure the unknown perils of the changing shadows ahead. And sometimes it is just because. But for now, I bask in the blanket of acceptance as the fire crackles its melodies. I’m so content here. I lay my head back and feel as nurtured as a new born, suckling my vision, fixated on the dancing of the candles in the sway of night. Their intermingling sparks are reminiscent of the flames of loyal friendship the Lord and I share. Next to the golden antique lamp are the white plantation shutters alight with the sheer refection of welcomed seasonal starlights. Oh how I adore this glory of the winter season. All is fresh and bright as I take my place to reflect deeply.
New hope arises within my spirit just basking in the twinkling of gently meandering snowflakes. Pausing ever so slowly, I wait watching and the delight and joy I feel inside is bursting as the crystal flakes gently fall against the red and green lit snow bows. Each tree is gleaming and glistening with a completely unique masterpiece of seemingly endless sparkle of fireworks. They seem alive. I am in awe. Lingering there I ponder how it is that God gathers the firmament to build and display his amazing works of art and yet changing the times and the seasons through it all. I further pause to imagine the varied pathways of the winds I watch brushing through the air causing the dreamy white scene to appear like angels on assignment.
What an indulgent feast the early spring dew brings as it crowns the hunter green blades of grass accompanied by the spring bird’s song in the distance. I remember as a little girl the first time I discovered an empty baby blue robin’s egg on the grass. Each year I would hike into the deep acre woods (about 50 feet behind our house) to hunt and climb trees in hopes of finding what my explorer instincts desired, birds at work. After marking my treasures, I’d sneak out alone to return to climbing to a solitary viewing spot to observe the nesting of the birds and their creations. My love for this colour has never left me and I surround my own home with these glorious colours God has created.
Months come and go but the old clock still ticks and the candlestick telephone are undaunted, they speak without words. Snuggled into my faithful friend, I am suddenly whisked away where my heart returns to the light of the sun with sapphire skies and white fluffy clouds floating by. Isn’t it a mystery how the glowing days of hot summer crimson sunsets heal one’s sense of losses and sorrows? Sunbeams stroke my cheeks and tears of gratitude fall on the arms that wrap me close, my friend and me we smile because translated there, we are swinging and skipping in heaven’s playgrounds. The sun’s yellow rays of hope do that to me, they just take me there.
Before I know it the clapping of shimmering hues capture my vision and the sound of the cadence of autumn’s symphony carries me. Though the skipping leaves of red and gold draw me to run with them and ride the cool breezes ,their death parts us once again. I hear the Holy Spirit explain they deserve their rest, these generational stalwarts over head. And in time I will rest under their shadows once again.
Dreaming is a principle given by heaven to bring about change and growth. It releases our God potential within and is like a beacon of light unveiling abilities placed there as those created in God’s image. It has taken years to discover the places that cultivate my ability to hear clearly from heaven and sunlight, warmth and colours, wind, blue skies, crimson clouds and trickling shimmering blue hues of water, endless varieties of florals and foliage are but a few portals of entry for me.
I love to dream at night and I love to dream in the day. Dreaming also flows inside of my being when I am surrounded with lights and colours that are strewn over evergreen shrubbery blanketed in fresh sparkling snow. Such is the scene through the glass pane as golden glowing embers fade into the wee hours of the hush of night.
This is the exciting anticipation that awaits my time with myself and with God as I snuggle into the arms of my comforting well worn friend. We’ve shared many chapters of life together as I pour out my thoughts to him and he tells me of things I know not. And together we watch as life happens throughout the window panes of our trysting place. Such wisdom to be gained in simply observing and studying the seasons of life in deep pondering. Each botanical season has its beauty and each are as a ladder into that precious place of relationship with my Father as we walk, sit and talk.
Do you have a trysting place to be with yourself? Sounds strange? It does seem odd but scripture tells us that Jesus went away to a quiet place to be alone. And it also says he went to places to be by himself to meet with God.
If we truly desire to enter the Kingdom of Heaven we must cultivate childlikeness. We will need to be intentional with planning our time to communicate and be alone with our Father in that special place.
The clock is ticking. The telephone is waiting.
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