Reminders of Communion.

In the midst of celebrating Christ, I’ve missed Him. Like crazy. I’ve missed just sitting and basking in the warmth of His presence and writing. I’ve missed the liberty that comes in communion with Him.

Today I wanted to breathe in His presence, as I craved the tender-hued hush of words falling onto the page. Even if the words are just those - words. Phrases aren't necessary any more. And paragraphs? I don't know if I'll ever see them again. But words can be enough in this season. Anything to commune with Him. So I prayed He would speak as I ran on the winding roads overlooking the lake, I prayed He would speak as I drove to meet friends for an afternoon outing. I prayed He would speak in the quiet places and in the chaos.

And He did.

He spoke through birdsong and dancing leaves in a grocery store parking lot. He reminded me beauty and song can be found in discarded places.

He spoke in a pink-dappled afternoon gathering as I watched friends savor the quiet peace of a pedicure. He reminded me all good gifts - including those friends - come from Him and are for His glory.

He spoke as I made a pot of soup for dinner, reminding me of His power in working all things together for good.

And through it all, He reminded me of His attentiveness. His love. His presence. His communion.