The Saturday Journal: Silence Speaks

There’s a certain solace in the sound of the early morning rain–like the ripples of a quiet river–like sea foam slowly descending–disappearing down into the grains of warm sand. A cleansing of sorts where silence speaks-–

There’s an old song that goes–”mama said there’d be days like this”--it may even be the title of the song. And at the first of the week–the day began with plans and goals and even action–moving forward. Mowing my yard was a top priority, but there would be no mowing on this day, at least not with my mower–one of the tires was flatter than a poorly made pancake.

Just a little hindrance I thought, so I headed out to my Mama’s and borrowed her mower. She said you might need to go and get some gas–I didn’t listen–and besides the last time I mowed her lawn it was plenty full. No problem, Mama, I told her. But it was-–and halfway between her house and mine, there I sat two tires in the road and two tires in my cousin’s field. There’s no running on fumes for cars and lawnmowers–I don’t care what they say. And here I was again–behind schedule for today’s “to-do” list–frustrated to say the least.

I walked up to my cousin’s house and asked to borrow some gas. His house was close by–closer than my house on foot. And he said, ‘Go down to the barn–I have four cans there–use all you want and you don’t have to pay me back. I’ll walk down there with you and show you where the cans are.’ Thank God for family and good neighbors.

There’s this tiny brown finch and almost every day, she comes to my porch–flies in and out and sits on the railing, often singing. I watch on this day as her little mouth opens and the feathers on her breast expands–her tiny lungs filling up with praise and then the letting go. And the way she sings is as beautiful as her song.

A few weeks back I saw a Mama deer and her two spotted babies and now this week–this same Mama has four fawns. It’s early afternoon and I watch as the fawns play in the distance, while their Mama forages on freshly mowed grass. The fawns see me and stare for a minute–their tails wagging like happy puppies. I read recently that baby deer stay with their mothers for a year–that their first five weeks of life are critical. They need their mother’s milk. And usually a mama doe will give birth to one fawn at a time–sometimes twins–rarely triplets. I also learned a fawn without a mother can only survive for about three weeks and yes, a mama doe will take orphaned fawns and raise the babies as her own.

After mowing on the “mama told me there’d be days like this day” I was speeding back to Mama’s on the mower and appearing out of nowhere came this butterfly. Her wings--the color of sunshine and blue skies. She flies beside me–almost touching my face and she’s fluttering–twirling–dancing–like she and I are in this race and she’s winning! I could almost hear her laughter as she pulled away waving the checkered flag–and then she floated into the deep of the woods.

A butterfly’s life is short–some only live two to four weeks–others can live up to 10 months–a female mayfly butterfly only lives for five minutes after being in her nymph stage period–a timeframe of two weeks up to two years. And in her five minutes of life, the female finds a companion and then lays her eggs in the water--the place she called home.

Later that evening while I was walking I found a butterfly lying on the ground–still–her wings closed. Her body–stiff. I can’t say it was the same racing–dancing butterfly I saw earlier in the day. But they looked the same. And my eyes began to water–

The season of dying is upon us–fall and winter is just a short distance away. Before long the trees will be clothed in an array of glorious reds, golds, oranges, and greens before surrendering to the chill of winter. And there’s this window made with shards of colored glass–and the window itself cannot speak--but tells stories of prayer, hope, healing, mourning, love, comfort, and rest. I remember this window. I know this window well. As many others do too. And even on the hardest of days, the birds will still sing--the mama deer will still take care of the orphaned babies, the butterfly will still dance, the mayfly will still live a full life in her five precious minutes, and the beauty of Zion will still shine–

Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God hath shined.

Psalm 50:2

A humble thank you for reading The Saturday Journal.

My prayer is to share The Saturday Journal every Saturday or at least bi-weekly--

but always on Saturdays. If you would like to have The Saturday Journal come to your email box, please subscribe to A Beautiful Grace blog and newsletter at

http://www.tathelmiller.com

All photos @copyright Tathel Miller