The hems of my soggy pants brush my ankles, sending chills up my spine. Grass confetti sticks like static electricity to my shoes with each step. I stop and stare at the horizon; my hand covers my squinting eyes, an awning shielding the brightness. I’ve memorized this moment for eleven months, breathless with the reality. Captivated by simple beauty, I sit down and mentally retrace the familiar lines of the landscape.
Water gently laps on the shoreline, the sun illuminating the lake like a flash mob of photographers. Children’s voices and the hum of a boat echo from miles across; the blue cloudless sky meets inky indigo water. A bird trills from two houses beyond, breaking my trance, diverting my attention toward the beach strewn with sand toys, water skis, and crumpled beach towels.
I hear myself exhale. And think.
In a culture of busyness, most of us live in the tension of unresolved solutions for continual cycles of chronic tiredness. We know we need rest but struggle to find margins.
This weekend, I’m “wasting time” with Ann Voskamp. She has pulled up a chair for me at the farm where I’m sharing a little glimpse into the pages of Rhythms of Rest. In full disclosure, Ann played a part in making me an author.
In the early days of blogging here, I participated in a link-up she hosted on her website for writers. It was there that my (now) dear friend and author, Lynn Morrissey found my writing, referred me to agent, Chip MacGregor and the rest is history. I’m an author in part because of Ann’s great generosity.
Join me at the farm for the full story? It would be such grace to have you there with me in the rocking chairs (and share the post with your friends?). Click here to find Ann’s porch.