Home » P.rogessive O.riginal E.piphanies of M.e » Natural Transformation

Natural Transformation

During my recent trip to Lexington, Kentucky, I participated in a day of non-media interrupted silence. Not a full 24 hours but enough time to slow down, open my eyes and see the natural and man-made brilliance around me.  To have the opportunity to observe this day of silence at the Lexington Theological Seminary campus made it even more wonderful.

Standing outside while the sun lightly kissed my exposed skin.

Running my sandaled, chipping citrus polished feet through the strong blades of Kentucky Bluegrass.

Sitting with my bags by my side, my pen in hand, my notebook in my lap; I begin to write.

Pondering days I once knew.

Days of summer sun, freshly cut green grass, that I watched my Dad mow and cater to.

Days of digging in the dirt of my Ma’s vegetable garden, learning how seeds grew and flowers blossomed.

So intrigued and curious to learn about the world in all its detail.

As I sit with bags by my side, my pen in hand and notebook in my lap, writing…

Noticing the ants crawl, hearing the birds chirp, feeling the chill of the morning breeze.

I see my Magnificent God. I hear God’s loving voice. I feel God’s tender touch.

I look at the world upon these gravel steps; I smile.

I watch, silently, as passersby speak warm regards from their cheerful voices. I speak quietly with only my bright smile & waving hands.

I sit with these bags beside me, with this pen in my hand and this notebook in my lap.

Realizing the “my’s” I’ve written aren’t necessary.

The city I see. The houses ahead of me. The Seminary next to me.          
The billowy white clouds and perfect blue sky above me.                              The gravel steps I sit upon.
The sun shining upon the soft pink colored flowers growing wildly amongst the black, steel hand rail are all God’s.

All our surroundings remind me we are together on this journey writing her story and His story.

Learning new lessons, walking new paths and sharing with new voices.

With our bags by our sides, our pens in hand, and our notebooks in our laps. We begin to write.

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