Saturday

It's a fall morning.

As a resident of East Texas, saying, "It's a fall morning,"   has great significance. Words loaded with relief.  Long, sweltering, seemingly endless, humid days choking the life and rising breath out of one's throat are now a blessed memory.  

It's a fall morning.

And I am sitting in my chair.

A fall, Saturday morning, with nothing much on the docket for the day, and I am so very grateful.  

From this position in my chair I can see an endless array of golden leaves, clinging to life along with all of the other leaves, some green and some brown.

On this morning, my beautiful daughter, Malorie, will awaken to yet another day in her  life of dance and perform at an annual pre-Christmas event called Mistletoe and Magic.

After reading a dozen of my favorite blogs, with the knowledge that my horses are available to be ridden, various friends could be called and enjoyed, food could be prepared, laundry could be done, I am luxuriating in the fact that I don't have to do any of it.  Sigh.  Not many days like this:  open ended, promising rest and creativity of my choosing.

There are a combination of aches pulsating in me.  

The ache of children I encountered in Africa, living  lives of survival, yet so much like you and me.  Seeing their pictures and reading about the daily life of the people who have moved there to help them, awaken the reality that I want to make a difference, too.  Hopefully I do.

How could my beautiful Hannah be all grown up and living as a married woman far away, and with a new puppy to boot? 

The sweet ache of a second daughter, Abby, possibly having found the love of her life and spending time out of town with him.  (Ah!!  How could this be happening?)  

The knowledge that I could be so much better and do so much more, but grateful to know that I am truly enough.  Thank you, Lord, for that knowledge.

It's a fall morning, and I am grateful and at peace.