We have had weeks of rain.
I haven’t minded too much, since many of our mulched beds have new plants in them.
The deer had decimated so many shrubs and plants that were planted last year.
Other plants, failed to thrive because of the summer drought.

Our landscaper, who comes in the spring and fall, said that the rain would benefit the plants.
Little did we know how much rain would fall.
Little did we know how wonderful the downpours would be for the new growth.
We didn’t have to water anything ourselves; God took care of that for us.

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I settled myself down to get ready for worship.
I knew that within minutes, the singing would begin.
For the next thirty minutes, songs would be sung that would point my heart towards Jesus.
I am grateful to the ones who play their instruments and use their voices to lead us in worship.

There are some who raise their hands as they sing.
There are some who sway just a bit along to the music.
There have even been times when I have seen worship songs signed for those who are deaf.
There are some who never sing at all.

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It was a small party favor.
It could be found at any party store.
Nothing fancy, but to a five-year-old, it was simply wonderful.
At least that’s the way it seemed.

My son, daughter-in-love, and two granddaughters were coming for an overnight visit.
Dinner was ready upon their arrival.
They would be coming after my son’s work day was over.
I knew they would come to the back kitchen door, as they always do.

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About forty minutes from my home, just a short drive away, are beautiful botanical gardens.
Many years ago, my children gave me a membership to the gardens as a Mother’s Day present.
I have renewed that membership every year since.
It is truly the gift that keeps on giving.

I have met friends at the gardens for lunch.
I have taken others during Christmas when the gardens are transformed with millions of lights.
I promise myself that I will go to the gardens more often and simply walk on the gorgeous paths.
The solitude, among all that beauty, is good for my soul.

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I was trying to select some music to listen to the other morning.
There were so many choices.
There were playlists already made for me.
There were music suggestions based on music I’ve already chosen.

My son, daughter-in-love, and two of my granddaughters were here as well.
I said what I was thinking out loud.
I want my albums back again, I said planning to think those words in my head.
I know what you mean, Mom, my son said, and I knew he understood.

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I watched him at church.
I caught his movements out of the corner of my eye.
He was way off to the right in the front of the sanctuary.
I noticed his exuberance.

An upbeat worship song was being sung by all of us.
I watched as his hands orchestrated.
I watched as his arms kept the beat of the drums.
I watched as he punctuated the sky with a, pow, on the last drumbeat.

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I sat in the pew waiting for the service to begin.
I saw a man put something down on the pew on front of me.
I assumed he would return to it in a bit.
I moved over in my pew so that others could sit on the end.

A family came in and saw the large space in the pew in front of me.
As they were ready to sit down, they noticed what had been left by the man.
The woman looked back at me and mouthed, Are these seats taken?
There was only one person, I mouthed back, putting up my index finger.

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We all prepared for our family beach vacation.
We were coming from various homes and locations.
It was about a seven hour drive for most of us.
The drive is never my favorite part of the trip, but once I’m there, I’m fine.

We left around 8:30 in the morning.
Stopping for lunch and a gas fill up, we thought we would arrive by 4:30.
We always get pizza the first night.
I unpack and then go grocery shopping to fill up the cabinets and refrigerator.

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I was weeding all the mulch beds.
Some people may not like that job, but for some strange reason, I do.
I like the satisfaction of seeing the mulch beds the way they are intended.
I like to see the actual bushes and shrubs unobstructed by weeds.

I had gotten up early after a wonderful eight hours of sleep.
I had my early morning walk.
I came back inside and had a light breakfast.
I watered my plants and then proceeded to weed.

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It was an afternoon of errands.
I deliberately drove home a different way.
A slower way.
A more scenic way.

It had been a week of cold temperatures with a snowfall trying to make its last hurrah.
I remember reading about “sugar snow” as described by Laura Ingalls Wilder.
Sugar snow is a late snow that falls when it really should be spring.
That late snowfall helps the trees make more sap for maple syrup.

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