Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Surprised (09/06/07)
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TITLE: Wait and Watch | Previous Challenge Entry
By Karen Treharne
09/12/07 -
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God will surprise us, if we will but wait and watch.
Rainfall in April that causes tears to fall from a weeping willow. Sitting on a riverbank where sunbeams slant beside us while at the same time on the other side … raindrops fall. Smooth rock faces along the shore that have been honed by winter gales over many years. The sight of a thirsty mouse lapping at the river's edge. An immobile mountain standing alone.
A hazy, ponded-moon in the water broken again and again by a bungling black frog, and a floating heron picking at it until it shatters. After moon-viewing, seeing our comparable shadow walking along beside us; hearing a cricket burglar searching for midnight treasures. An isolated place to feel the almost tangible sense of tradition that hangs in the quiet night air.
God will surprise us, if we will but wait and watch.
Eyes stinging from blowing sand and blinded by the glaring sun bouncing off the ocean waves. Heat waves drifting down on burning rocks. A day that is cool and clear, graced with a transparent-blue sky and a warm, caressing wind. A firefly leaving air in our fingers as we touch its lightness, then pulsing itself, spreading its wings, and with a tiny whir lifting into the air and floating up and away. Children devouring ice cream faster than grasshoppers.
Reddish-brown hills, barren as if they had recently been groomed; shaven clean; smooth like a Dachshund. A streak of lightning that shatters raindrops into dazzling diamond waterfalls. An understanding heart that listens - instead of trying to say or do something.
God will surprise us, if we will but wait and watch.
Snow falling softly as if each sowflake was being carefully laid in place, stacking up on fence posts and leafless branches; fallen leaves making a carpet of brilliant colors painted with a crusty tint of white.
A humming bird glittering green in the morning sun, probing with her long bill at a wrinkled mushy apple still clinging to one gnarled snow-dusted tree limb. Soaking up the perfect stillness and solitude of a first snowfall.
The setting sun that as it sinks out of sight, casts a final blazing light through the chestnut trees making the spring grass look deep and soft as emerald velvet. The rising moon, a big lopsided gold orb sailing up out of the cradle of stars, shedding its borrowed radiance over the sky and turning a summersault on a lake before it floats away.
Feeling God’s hand upon our heart as a surgeon would massage a transplant to life, replacing its emptiness with anticipation of God’s next surprise.
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