waiting

today, out of nowhere, it turned cold. cold as in the sun is setting and i'm wearing a down vest and socks. i never wear socks. it is a welcome change. and a reminder that things do change. even when it seems like they never will, they eventually will, they do.

i'm sitting alone outside and enjoying it. all of it. the reflecting sun sky, the wiggling banana plant leaves, the chiggering of the night bugs, the slow blinking of lights on the hill- and the lack of motion and voices because the house is empty. sometimes that change is needed- just for a few hours. so the rest of the world gets a turn to be noticed, or so that i get a chance to appreciate. because alone and outside is usually when the Holy Spirit speaks - or when i hear. it is the presence in the air. the fullness. the knowing of not being truly alone but abiding with something that never takes and only fills. only gives. something that doesn't leave, but is there, waiting for me to sit still.

sometimes it just says, 'see?' as in, look at what you are sitting in, how you are breathing, see the world around you - notice your place in it. sometimes it asks, ' what do you need today?' and i say, 'to feel loved' and the smiling leaves shake saying back, 'oh dear you are so loved.' sometimes i say,' what am i to do?' and it says, 'you know what to do, but i know it's hard for you to do it', and then it invites me to stay a bit longer, to fill me up before i go, and try. sometimes it reminds me, 'i'm always here. and you are always welcome.' and all that gives me enough to stay in the heat of the times that are full of sun and humidity, stickiness and challenge, and seeming never-endingness.

because as we are holding on to the promise of change in those waiting times,  it's as steadying to remember that some things stay the same- for always and forever.