Hind's Feet

We chase each other,
laughing like lovers playing hide and seek.
He scatters graces and I lift praises,
going round and round in the joyous dance.
The music transforms my awkward feet
and I begin to understand the words
that captured my heart so long ago:
"He makes my feet like hind's feet
and causes me to walk upon my high places."

This morning I stood in the quiet cold waiting for our youngest to drive me to work. I could have spent the time fussing over the inconvenience of having my truck repaired, the additional expense and drain on our hemmorrhaging bank account. I could have fumed in irritation that he was taking so long. I could have allowed my mind to spiral out of control over a number of things over which it had no control.

But I didn't. I placed my warm mug of hot chocolate on the roof of the vehicle and with childlike awe began fixing memories of the moment in my camera's eye:

the white carpet gleaming with frost diamonds;





the rising sun scattering darkness;



the heat branded roof;



the gentle hand driving;



the warmth of a heater;



a visor shading my eyes from the blinding light;



cold etchings on the windshield.



Hours later, my Dear Professor's strong hand drove me home from work. I thanked him for that. I don't thank him enough for all he is and does.



I watched the sun, a brilliant circle hiding behind trees on the way home, then clouds as it vanished over the horizon.



The sun.



It was an unusual day. A remarkable day. An ordinary day. The difference was the attitude. Instead of slogging through "one more 24", I spent it listening, looking, can I say dancing? Dancing on the high places with hinds feet.

I long to walk there more often.

My counting with the community of One Thousand Gifts:
171. Hannah Hurnard's Hinds Feet on High Places
172. the quiet cold
173. waiting
174. our youngest
175. my warm mug of hot chocolate
176. childlike awe
177. my camera's eye
178. frost diamonds
179. the rising sun
180. warmth of a heater
181. a visor's shade from the blinding light
182. cold windshield etchings
183. my Dear Professor's kindness
184. sun behind trees
185. sun behind clouds
186. an ordinary day
187. learning to dance
188. "hinds feet"
189. Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts

My First Love

There is an old photograph of us somewhere in Dad's cardboard treasure trove of pictures. I want to find it this summer when we go back to Texas. I can see the image clearly in my mind as I write. A moment of youth and sun and love, frozen in time on a piece of faded Kodak paper.

I was so happy. He was so handsome--tall, muscular, golden. We were only with each other briefly, yet those moments together have yielded a lifetime of fond memories.

My first love.

Long before my Dear Professor journeyed from south Texas to practice law in my hometown on the Gulf Coast, there was another man in my life. His name was Sonny.

I don't remember what attracted me first, his athletic Aryan build, or his eyes. I could get lost gazing into his deep brown eyes. He was the strong, silent type, the stuff of westerns. I felt safe with him, so I opened my heart, and he listened.

And then, just as suddenly as he entered my life, he departed. I had felt it coming. There were times when we were together that he would stare off into the distance. Words were not necessary, I could see the longing in his eyes. I knew that what I had to offer was not enough.

I never saw him again. But somewhere, somewhere there is that photograph. And in my heart, there are the memories. Memories of sun, and Saturdays, and Sonny.

The most beautiful palomino gelding I have ever known. And my first love.




Update: If you love horses, or children, or both, you must listen to these stories about special horses and children who help each other heal. Or visit the web home of Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch.

Silver mornings

On this day, when the sun rises golden behind grey clouds,



when diamond glint scatters through snow,



and frozen breath stifles words.



All the world is still.



May we take a moment this day to feel the still, the quiet?



May we listen for the silver in the morning.