small moments of grace
I am in Richmond, Virginia. Beautiful city.
But I am feeling a bit sorry for myself (not a good idea) as I'm alone and tired. So
I go get some cheese, fruit and bread from a street vendor and sit on the Virginia Capitol lawn under a huge Oak tree and eat. Alone
Then I remember that when I'm fraught with tension and terrible self-pity I need to breathe. Deeply. So I lean back on my elbows and look up through the leaves of the Oak tree. The sun is shining through the leaves and I remember what it is like to be twelve years old and lying on the grass in summertime. This is the only thing on the to-do list at twelve years old in the summer -- lie on the grass and stare at the sky, right?
I'm feeling a bit better when I look straight ahead and see a huge statue (this is the Capitol lawn) of this man with his arms spread wide. I stand and go read the name plate below -- PATRICK HENRY. Well, of course, this is Virginia.
This is my husband's name.
No relation. Just a name.
And I know that if I hadn't just taken that deep breath and looked up at the slanting sun through the Oak leaves, I might have missed God's great sense of playfulness.