I searched for her every day following our Monday morning encounter, one week ago. Eyes, scanning the fields and hillsides, yet she made no other appearances. The week wore on amidst a season of Hope and Wait, but also one teetering on cliffs of haggard and weary, until another Monday found me fighting back tears of defeat. Illness, busyness, loneliness- hallmarks of the worldly robber- stealing joy as he goes, scattering discouragement in its place. Scarcely a whisper, “Strength will rise as we wait upon you Lord…”
Car curving downhill, and there I see her- all white and bright against the leafless trees watching guard. She’s crossed the road and next to us, looks back before trotting off through the trees, gaining speed as I gain just a portion of perspective. “Two Mondays- I wonder what it means,” I think aloud to my wide-eyed passengers.
Miles pass on and notes begin, music filling the air between us. “I wike dis one,” our tiniest declares her approval. “Yes I know that You’re with me here, and I know, Your love will light the way,” singer declares. I like this one too, I say silently.
Nearing school, volume is lowered, prayers offered- declared really, over our fragile fold. Prayers of Mercy and health, Joy and Peace, for mountains to fall…As the car line advances and “Amens” whispered, my oldest questions, “But Mom, why do you want mountains to fall?” Her door open now, she gathers bags and apple, hustling to keep line moving. I turn and tell her, “I will explain it to you this afternoon- we can talk more then, promise.” I love yous exchanged and she’s off, as are we, back to the hill and hopeful eyes watching tree lines for another glimpse, another message hidden for us in creation. And given it all-the sacrifice and battle, the tears and wandering- it is the anticipation of a finished conversation with my girl about my God, an opportunity to actually parent and pour into and not merely pour milk for, that brings respite by way of a smile. Glimpses of Joy on a Monday- darting through trees, up and down hills, lighting the way, always looking back beckoning us to press on.