(Ah, friends.  Welcome.  It’s still January, I have 7 more days of teaching to go.  My husband has manned five pediatric sick appointments in the last two weeks and today we return together with our oldest son who’s illness doesn’t appear to be responding to antibiotics.  So here I am, again, sharing something old, but entirely relevant to the now.  May we each find rest when and where we can.)

Come unto me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” – God 

I came into the retreat like our old cat Samson used to come into our house after a string of nights out on the town.  Samson would disappear and refuse to show up for nights on end as we leaned out the screen door, peering and calling his name into the darkness.  A few days later, he would come dragging in, thin and dirty, walking slowly with a limp. 

That’s how I felt that morning – I arrived completely exhausted.  Life with four young children is like drinking from a fire hose, all struggle and gasping and refreshment to the point of drowning.  The discipline of a monthly retreat has revealed the intensity of life lived between those moments of rest and I often arrive haggard, gasping for breath. 

The day opened with an opportunity for each participant to write on a scrap of paper three words that described how they arrived.  Then a large ceramic bowl was passed from hand to hand around the gathered circle as we named our words and laid our papers into the bowl. 

It felt to me that others had much nicer words, like “rested,” “eager,” and “waiting.”  But as I lifted the heavy bowl and dropped in my small scraps of paper three words escaped my lips like a cry,



and threadbare.

I passed the bowl quickly and sat quietly.  

I listened and prayed throughout the morning as the tears rolled down. 

Later, I found a sunlit window and sat curled in a chair soaking it in.  I ate a quiet lunch that settled in me like a bowl of warm milk, full of soothing comfort.  Then I returned to the retreat house and stretched out on a long cushioned bench.  I wrote a little, read a little too, but eventually I gave in and, leaning to the side, I curled up there in the lap of God and drifted my way off to sleep.

*   *   *

Welcome to the #SmallWonder link-up.

What if we chose to deliberately look for the small moments of wonder, the small sparks of presence, of delight or sorrow, of true humanity in which we meet God? 

That’s my proposal – that we gather here each week to share one moment of Wonder from each of our days.  

You’re invited to link-up a brief post about a small moment of wonder.  Don’t worry if your post is too long, too short, or not just right – you’re welcome to come as you are.  

While you’re here, please do take a look around and encourage at least one other blogger with a comment.  

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