Yesterday was Sunday, and we were enjoying one of the few sunny days that we have seen since Christmas. When our babies left (that means our youngest son who is 30 and his wife), Burt and I headed over to our lake for a short time. Together we launched the john boat that he fishes from. I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't full of water and that the trolling motor was charged! I think Burt expected me to sit on the dock and read, but I am becoming more and more aware of the moments that I can participate in something that he really enjoys, so I go in the boat with him. I still read, but I looked up enough to cheer him on when he got a bite. I even attempted to grab a bass by the lower jaw and lift him out of the water. Ouch! He was heavier that I thought he'd be, and stronger!
I'm still enthralled with Carol Brazo's book, No Ordinary Home. I read some more about her family's celebration of Lent, and I'm feeling more discouraged about my own observance. My efforts seem so puny in comparison. I'm trying to focus on the sacrifice that Jesus made, and it's simply more than my mind can grasp.
I looked at the scenery surrounding me, and it was so peaceful, even in its winter attire. The water provided a perfect mirror image of the dock; in fact, it look like two docks stacked on top of each other. I watched a duck coming in like a kamikaze and landing on his chosen spot. I watched as the logs and stumps in the lake passed lazily beside us as our boat glided along. The late afternoon sky was beginning to gather a few rain clouds before evening, and the clouds looked like graphite smudges on a piece of gray paper. The only sounds were the zing of Burt fishing rod when a bass struck and the soft whir of the trolling motor. Somewhere behind the last of the white clouds that floated like silk scarves, there was the sound of some kind of migrating bird, probably returning home after his winter getaway, but we couldn't see them. Altogether, it was calm and serene, and we could experience the world from a distance.
My thought then turned to the Lent season. I tried to imagine what Jesus was feeling when He was on Earth, spending time with His disciples, counting the days until the Passover Celebration when His body would become the ultimate sacrifice for mankind's redemption. I realized that I couldn't fathom it. I began to feel a touch of heaviness in my own spirit, not because I could experience some of His Passion, but because I couldn't.
All I could do was to thank God silently that Burt and I were brought together in His wonderful preordained plan, blessed beyond description with amazing sons and totally wonderful daughters-in-law. Since we have mastered the art of reading each other's thoughts, Burt said at that point, "We have an awesome family, don't we?"
As we pulled that boat back on the shore and took out the plug, Burt said, "Look at the sun." It hadn't begun to set at that time, but was giving us its last blaze of glory before its descent. I left feeling peaceful, yet wanting more. I believe it will come. There are 34 more days before Resurrection Sunday.
