character sketch

My Father’s World

~ Joy ~ Leave a comment
A bouquet of broccoli and Brussels spout shoots from our thoughtful neighbor--It made my day.
A bouquet of broccoli and Brussels sprout shoots from our thoughtful neighbor–It made my day.

I love the world outside my window.

Every day the sun rises and then sets again. Every year the seasons change–spring, summer, fall, and winter. Every few seconds we breathe in air and then exhale carbon dioxide. It’s all a routine. A continuous loop. We don’t often think about this loop. It’s as natural to us as…well…breathing. But whether we realize it or not, this routine gives us a sense of security.

Yet the world around me is so much more than a monotonous machine. It abounds with personality, quirkiness, and mystery.

It’s a world of patterns and paradoxes. Questions and answers.

It’s a world of unity and diversity. Simplicity and complexity.

It’s a world of countless shades of color. Countless angles. Countless songs being sung at the same time.

It’s My Father’s World.

And what a privilege it is to live in it. To hear the birds sing the songs that God composed for them. To see the mother holding the baby that God has given her. To feel the sun shining down on me. To taste the salty sea.

To live is to be surrounded by God every moment of every day.

This is the world we live in.

Our Father’s World.

“The earth is the Lord’s, and all it contains.
The world, and those who dwell in it.
For He has founded it upon the seas.
And established it upon the rivers.”

(Psalm 24:1-2)

Optimists

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Optimists

No matter how bleak a situation may appear, an optimist always discovers the positive side of it. On rainy days, for instance, he is not depressed by its gloominess, but his positive outlook on life causes him to think of the bountiful blessings that rain showers bring. Neither is he  opposed to challenges or hardships, for he knows the benefits of overcoming them. Even when his plans crumble, an optimist does not lose heart, but trusts that Yahweh must have  better plans for him. His cheery view of life makes him happier than most people, uplifts everyone he meets, and causes him to be loved and respected wherever he goes.

March 2012

 

Mr. Darcy

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Sequestered to the loneliest corner of the country ballroom stands the distinguished Mr. Darcy. He is a handsome gentleman of twenty-eight years, with a wealth of black hair and a stately stature. His countenance is as a king; no smile lines his face as he observes the night’s festivities with scrutinizing eyes. He presents a curt nod to others only when it is absolutely inescapable, and swiftly declines any offers to dance. With his affluence and good looks alone, every eligible young lady is at his beck and call, all except for one, Elizabeth Bennet. She is the only young lady that Darcy finds desirable. That acknowledgment, however, causes a shiver to pass through his rigid frame. The thought of being allured by a woman of Elizabeth’s lowly status is most deplorable to his estimation. Spotting her in the crowd he quickly turns away, lifts his chin, and stiffens his back. It would be imprudent of him to display his feelings. He longs to abandon the uncivilized banquet and return to the dignified setting of Netherfield Park.

January 2013

The Artist

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Trifling chatter is all that consumes his fellow hikers as they trudge down the winding timber path. The artist lingers behind, allowing the others to trample on ahead. When the dust finally settles and the palaver is distant, he closes his eyes and revels in the allurement of autumn. Tilting his head, he catches the warmth of sunrays peeking through the treetops. He can hear the rustle of leaves as squirrels scamper about, harboring nuts for the winter. He inhales deeply the fresh air of the timberland and catches a scent of evergreen. A smile touches his face as a breeze swirls past him. Opening his eyes he finds the branches overhead showering him with an abundant spray of leaves. One leaf captures his eyes, and he grasps it as it flits by him. He runs his fingers along its ridges and marvels at its crimson hue. In that moment all is silent; a current of hope enraptures him. Suddenly he feels confident in achieving any aspiration he seeks, never to be downhearted again. Then a voice rends the silence – was someone calling him? Reluctantly, he tears himself away from his reverie. Casting the leaf onto the trodden path, he wills himself toward the group of hikers he had so easily forgotten.

November, 2012