
“I sometimes wonder, after all,
Amid this tangled web of fate,
If what is great may not be small,
And what is small may not be great.
So wondering I go my way,
Yet in my heart contentment sings . . .
O may I ever see, I pray,
God’s grace and love in Little Things.”
From “The Joy of Little Things”, by Robert Service
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“I come in the little things, saith the Lord,
Amidst the delicate and bladed wheat
That springs triumphant in the furrowed sod . . .
I come in the little things, saith the Lord:
Yea! on the glancing wings
Of eager birds, the softly pattering feet
Of furred and gentle beasts, I come to meet . . . .”
From “I Come in the Little Things, Saith the Lord”, by Evelyn Underhill
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I will never be able to say enough, write enough, or thank God adequately for the Little Things. I cannot begin to list them, because I haven’t enough years on earth, or hours in a day. There isn’t enough paper on this planet to contain my list or record my appreciation for the Little Things. But here are just a few:
The February sun streams in my window, flooding my keyboard. Our corgi, Dylan, sleeps and snores on the floor beside me. My husband watches a favorite sport and periodically makes a suggestion or voices a strong complaint, to the players on the screen.
Snow falls. Snow melts. Today I heard the cardinal’s first “Cheer Cheer Cheer” of the season; his territorial assertiveness has resumed for another year. We had breakfast at a local café which is alway packed at mealtimes—resounding with the happy clatter of dishes and ongoing congenial conversation.
Our friendly 93 year old neighbor, Mike, drives off in his sporty new car, with his radio blaring Country Western tunes. Mike is chomping at the bit for the next golf season to begin. Another neighbor walks past our windows with a dog, and Dylan rumbles his “deep in the throat” message—broadcasting that he does not like other dogs.
Our granddaughter-in-law, Kelly, phones from San Diego and excitedly tells us about the sunshine—and the view of the ocean from their patio. She tells us they are all happy—and that their sweet two year old, Cole, has a little friend to play with.
I loiter in the produce department of our supermarket and marvel at the gorgeous shades of purple/blue in the eggplants. I resolve to GOOGLE “Eggplant Recipes”, in order to justify buying one the next time I shop. But I’ll probably sketch and paint the eggplant before cooking it.
Our Christmas cactus never bloomed at Christmas, but now it is sprouting pink buds—having saved its glory for the Lenten season. As I water the plants, they say “Thank you” by exuding the heady fragrance of damp earth.
Now we have a lingering twilight. I boil water and steep our tea until just short of battery acid strength. Joe and I drink our tea while gazing out the living room window at the ambience of our patio garden in winter—and dreaming of the green explosion to come.
Tomorrow, in church, I’ll sit in our four generation family row—praising God that I can be the old great-grandma, enjoying beautiful younger people of all ages! Some will visit in the afternoon, for Scrabble, reminiscing, playing in the doll house, or simply savoring the moment.
People to love. Beauty to behold. Endless delights to experience with the five senses. Creative pastimes to enjoy. We lack nothing. We are complete. We are abundantly blessed by The Little Things!
Contentment
It comes from viewing, with a certain mind,
a window full of plants in Winter
and finding rabbit tracks in snow,
from going to sleep while blizzard shrieks
and waking to a house that’s drifted shut.
It comes again in Spring when Earth is waiting
and the air has not quite turned to May,
in Summer at a pine-edged lake
where Time halts and the moment is enough.
It comes in Autumn–with a sadness–
as fields are tanned and cider flows
and children’s noses chill at dusk,
and Earth spreads makeup on Her face
to hide Her age.
© Margaret Longenecker Been
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