Tonight there is a gentle rain falling. It is the perfect sort of soaking drizzle that covers everything, including the thirsty ground, in a gentle blanket of damp that soaks down into the cracks and gives our brand new garden a much needed drink. The children, who have been helping us with the garden for the past three weeks, were pleased to see the rain, because it meant that the potatoes and tomatoes and peas and carrots and corn that we had planted would be stronger in the morning. They have never been happy to see rain before.
This week we had a conversation about pets. I am beginning to feel strongly that if we feed something, it should bring some added value to the family, and the children, surprisingly, were okay with pets we would also eat. It was not a strange concept to them.
Today, as we planted a semi circle of sunflowers, and the Snickerdoodle smiled delightedly as yet another tractor drove past on our rural road, the mackerdoodle said to me, “Mama, our life is simpler now, isn’t it? I like our simple life.”
So do I. It feels like we’ve come home to something we didn’t know we were missing.
Today began with a series of angry rain storms and ended with passive aggressive drizzle. It has been gray and cold and miserable all day. We hunkered down in the house, invited friends over to play inside, and wore our slippers. We played dress up and read stories and watched T. V. and just didn’t look out the window much.
It was this time of year that the Mayflower anchored at the site later called Plymouth Rock in a place later named Massachusetts. When they encountered this weather they didn’t have the opportunity to hunker down with gas heat and electric stove. They couldn’t wrap up in their snuggies and watch T.V. until the storms (or the winter) passed them by. They were cold, and sick and hungry and wondering what they had done to themselves and their children. 102 people came ashore in December of 1621. 45 of them died that first winter.
In October of the next year only 53 people were alive. Only four of them were adult women.
In October of 1622 those 53 people and some 90 natives came together and ate quail and deer and the product of a successful harvest. They thanked God for a year that most of us would consider dismal at best, crushing at worst. They celebrated for three days because the Lord had brought them through.
Today the rain and clouds and tornado sirens are reminding me of everything for which I am thankful, and the general ease of my life.
Thank you Lord for bringing us through this year.
It’s the first day of Spring Break, and it’s raining and I’m still at home instead of on my way to Canada, all because i still don’t have a passport, and I have laundry to do and a floor that needs sweeping and bathrooms to clean. Stupid Spring non-break.
I’m feeling sorry for myself.
Aren’t I mature?