The sound of her tiny feet digging into wet sand pull my praying eyes open like shades rolling up to welcome a new day. I watch her from my spot in the lawn chair seated behind the screen. She gallops along shore and my bible, it slips off my lap in concentration.
A loon echoes off glassy lake unzipping early morning stillness.
She holds the plastic handle on the clear box, zigzags between boats lying on shore, scavenging for signs of leaping life under their bellies. Wispy strands dangle curtain over the sides of her head as she bends low.
A youthful gasp cracks open the quiet and the wonder seeps out in the finding. “Mom,” she calls out and runs for the red screen door. Minutes later, her father follows close behind, picks up the edges of sleeping boughs to capture found treasure. Little hands full of tiny frogs awakening from slumber.
And I wonder if the miracle of creation loses its allure when I stop giving thanks?
It’s why I carry my camera like a third arm, to capture what the lens magnifies in surprise. The sacrament of photography, it restores holy awe. In bending over to see, the heart renews in thanks.
I witness grace in the birch peeling back like paper pages revealing hidden beauty. In red shouting low among leafy ground.
I watch Him brush pink sky melting twilight into blue canopy, gazing at her reflection in mirrored pools beneath.
I see Him smile in the joy of an after dinner ride down a quiet dirt road. Thankful for the way an empty agenda ushers in unexpected gifts.
I find thanks in the youthful heart of wisdom that understands play beyond restriction.
And capturing small bits of beauty one frame at a time, it forms a portrait revealing the nearness of his presence every step along the way.
As we celebrate this Labor Day holiday, may we reclaim the wonder by giving thanks.