A garland of musical notes is tangled around my rib cage. Sometimes I fear a quarter note will puncture a lung, and I'll deflate into a colorful puddle on the sidewalk... Other times I covet those translucent little pools with nothing to hide.
When I was a little girl, my Papaw taught me how to catch crawdads in the creek beside our old home place in the Smoky Mountains. I would wade into the water with my barefeet and search for creepy crawlies lurking beneath the stones. Scooping up the biggest and ugliest creature that I could find, I would wave it in my sister's face, delighted as she squealed in disgust.
I think that creek stole a part of me forever. As the world lends its burdens and takes its captives, I find myself desperately trying to return to the crawdads. My mind wanders to the Smokies, and I'm tempted to reenact myself- hiding in the sheets dangling on Mamaw's clothesline, then stripping naked, so that the sheets could become my ball gown as I pranced through the yard.
Millions of memories buzz and flicker like so many fireflies on an Alabama summer night. It's magical, and I can't seem to let go of the little girl in the linen ball gown.
After supper, my Papaw would pull out his guitar and pluck cords, as I danced with Ashley beneath the aluminum carport. Hymns and gospel tunes sung off-key; to me it was a glimpse of Heaven- my bare feet slapping the pavement as we swung each other round and round.
When a place possesses so many memories, I can't help but feel that a part of me resides there as well. Whenever I wander through my Mamaw's yard, my heart slips into the sheets, and I long to find my Papaw rocking beneath the carport.
For me, it's proof that God paints our lives with moments that foreshadow Heaven.
As my mundane responsibilities increase, I find myself missing more divine moments. God tells us to seek Him like a child- unashamed with eyes open to the magic of His world, but somewhere between driving to work and running errands, I exchange crawdads for pennies and dimes.
Minutes, hours, and days pass, and the little girl in the linen sheets is relegated to naïveté.
I can't leave her behind anymore. It hurts too much to forget what I was made for and where I came from.
Every morning, God covers our failures with new mercy, and I believe He composes ten million more opportunities for us to dance with fireflies.
As consistently, as I disregard His wonder, God is constantly at work reminding me of who I am- a little girl in a linen ball gown searching for crawdads.
"Because of the Lord's faithful love
we do not perish
for His mercies never end.
They are new each morning;
great is your faithfulness!
I say: The Lord is my portion,
therefore I will put my hope in Him"
Lamentations 3:22-24
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