I call this photo, "Relationship."
It was raining cats and dogs. Though the morning was unseasonably warm, afternoon storms had brought with them winds and much colder air. It was just after 2 pm, when I saw the taillights of my husband's truck refracted by the deluge, and creeping into the backyard. Large puddles had collected in the grass, the dirt path around our stepping stones had become a river of mud, and the deck was holding more water than I'd ever thought possible. Everything about the scene gave me to sigh with relief; we were all in for the day, cozy and warm. The family room had become gloomy with the departure of sunny skies, and I turned to flip the light on for Mom. Just then, I heard it, a voice choked with astonishment:
"What are you doing?! Get back in that house!"
That quickly our grandson had exploded out the backdoor, across the deck and straight onto the banks of Mud River. Bad enough he had no jacket. Bad enough he had not stopped to ask. But this little man was in his stocking feet, running full tilt, and screaming, "POPPI!!!" as loud as his lungs would allow.
Hence, the sopping wet socks which hang, more than a day later, drying on the laundry cart. Abandon, reckless abandon. Excitement. Fervor. Impulse which could have sent him gliding across a slick deck. Disregard for comfort, or well-being, or convention; not a split-second pause to consider what he was doing, or carefully step onto what could be treacherous terrain. A completely spontaneous, unbridled, even excessive response to the presence of his Poppi, the one with whom he longs to work side-by-side. His friend was home, nothing would stop him, and he met him with all he had.
I'm thinking, if my relationship with Jesus hasn't yielded a pair or two of sopping wet socks, maybe it's time.
Posts
