FALL 2007Summer is a delight of the senses. I am like a small child, constantly amazed and awestruck at each new thing I see: the first daisy, the first day lily, even the first goldenrod (that plant known better by its less beautiful term: ragweed). I love the colors in the summer rainbows, the feel of cool lake water on my toes, the sound of the goldfinches calling from the weeping cherry behind my house, the aroma of my neighbor's roses, the taste of a warm peach fresh from the tree.
I have been working all morning: answering e-mail, making and receiving phone calls, planning for a trip that is coming up soon. I have developed a routine when I work at home which seems to actually increase my productivity. I work for one hour, and then I sing for ten minutes: the old gospel songs like "Beams of Heaven" and "Dare to be a Daniel." Or I go outside for ten minutes and watch the snapping turtles swimming in the lake. Those breaks are a respite for my soul, and give me the ability to keep working.
When I am on the road, I also take deliberate breaks: snacks in a park, a walk along the canal taking photographs, time sitting on a bench listening to a lark. I need those breaks if I am to be truly productive and creative.
And I believe that God actually designed us humans to take many breaks from our work. These breaks are a time for turning back to God, remembering God in the taste of blueberries, in the smell of roses, in the call of the larks, in the feel of the keyboard under our fingers.
During these breaks, I am often reminded of God's promise to us, as worded by Paul: "Nothing at all can separate us from the love of God." Nothing (not our work, not our play, not our sorrows, not our joys, not our virtues, not our sins) can stop God from loving us, and from loving all that she has created. We are her children, every bit as loved by her as the deer I watched eating grass beside the road this morning, as the full moon I wrote a poem beneath a few nights ago, as the goldenrod beside a canal in Princeton. I am sure we are often times a sorrow to her, as we muddy the sandbox, and break apart the toys she has given us. But, even so, we are deeply and forever loved by her.
Sondra Ball
Clerk, Salem Quarterly MeetingRETURN TO TABLE OF CONTENTS
Last modified:
Sunday, August 12, 2007 at 11:24 PM
