Listen, my child, to the music of the air as the breeze whistles through branches. The air is fresh with the cool scent of the morning. As the sun rises in the east, birds join the orchestra.
Creation sings praise to me.
Lean into me, my love. I give you a fresh day, a day of love and hope. Look ahead to find the joy of each dawn, the music of the rising, the faith of the morning newness.
Take my hand and we will stroll into the songs of creation. I want you to sense the vibrations of new life.
You delight me as you find hope in shattered dreams, joy in fallen rocks, purpose in each dawn, because you walk with me.
Together we will find newness in this day. Joy. Love. Purpose.
I am always with you, and healing happens in my presence.
My heart is confident in you, O God; my heart is confident. No wonder I can sing your praises! Wake up, my heart! Wake up, O lyre and harp! I will wake the dawn with my song. I will thank you, Lord, among all the people. I will sing your praises among the nations. For your unfailing love is as high as the heavens. Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds.
Ice crystals chime in the trees, joined by hollow notes as frosty twigs twist in the breeze. Walk through this ice palace of crystal and sweet music.
For a moment, the cold temperatures fade as you heed the charm of sound and sight.
In this world, crisp weather produces discomfort yet reveals beauty. Choose where you look and what you notice.
Seek my beauty in hidden places. Relish it as my gift to you. As you draw near to my artistry, your soul will be replenished.
Hear the notes chime as the tang of icy weather strokes your skin. Soon spring blossoms will poke through the ice and snow, but now, my dear one, in this white and frozen time, rejoice in my life and my beauty.
Embrace the grace of this day.
How amazing are the deeds of the Lord! All who delight in him should ponder them. Everything he does reveals his glory and majesty. His righteousness never fails. He causes us to remember his wonderful works. How gracious and merciful is our Lord!
I have never been a smoker except for one puff when I was six years old, but that one puff has produced some weird stories.
Several years ago, back in the day when we still answered the phone without knowing who was on the other end, I got snagged by a survey taker.
The questions had to do with tobacco use. Had I ever used tobacco?
I am entirely too honest. That puff at age six leaped into my consciousness and I told her I had once. I regretted that transparency shortly.
No Obsession Like a Survey Taker
She jumped on my admission like a starving wolf. “What did you use?”
“Um, well, I was six years old, and I took one puff.”
“Was it menthol or filtered?”
“I was six years old. And it was one puff.”
“What brand of cigarette was it?”
Really? You’d Ask Again?
“I was six years old, and it was one puff.”
“Did you continue the habit?”
“I was six years old, and I never wanted another puff.”
She kept asking, and I only had one answer.
What I’m going to share with you didn’t fit into her survey questions. But we’re friends and I am entirely too honest.
Here’s The Story
At age 6, I approached my dad after supper one evening. He sat at the dining room table with a cigarette poised between two fingers, white smoke drifting like a lazy river toward the ceiling, and a glimmering glass ashtray beside him.
I guess I was staring with eager eyes. I thought he looked sophisticated, although I’m certain I didn’t know that word yet.
“Would you like a puff?” He beckoned to me.
Yes, I would. I scooted up to him, eager to share this special moment. I lifted the white tube to my lips and took a long pull on the cigarette.
A loooong pull. One loooong draw.
White Heat
Dragon’s breath first roasted my tonsils before descending with white raging heat down my throat. My lungs were seared and my stomach rolled with burning coals.
The scalding smoke slammed into my eyes and my nose filled with the stench of dead mice and scorched banana peels. Angry flames blew out my ears and singed my eyebrows.
My throat cramped like a sore muscle. My toenails curled with the heat and hot tears ran down my cheeks.
Certain that my life was about to end, I spun and sprinted on my hot, toasted legs into the bathroom. I stuck my mouth under the faucet, slapped the cold water handle open, and tried to drown myself.
As rushing water sluiced across my tongue in the faint hope of dousing the fire, I had one thought, assuming I survived: Never again. A single swallow of the dragon’s breath was more than enough for me.
Done, Done, Done
I imagine that was Dad’s idea, and it worked.
Besides making me a lifelong nonsmoker, the experience also had another benefit. My experience roasted the caller’s survey results.
A blacksmith builds a blazing fire before he pushes the metal into the flames. But the metal must get red hot – softened – and then he pounds it into something useful.
You have been pushed into the fire of grief and loss with raw and searing pain.
But I have pulled you out and begun re-forming you.
Trust me, dear one. I won’t crush you to uselessness, but I will form you into something new.
This fire of grief and loss is changing you. You are being made new.
I act with love and purpose. You can’t see what I see, but trust me, I have a plan for you.
Unlike the metal in the fire, you have the power to step away. And you might consider it because you want to avoid the pain of a scorching fire.
But if you won’t endure the pain of the fire, you won’t see my transformation.