The weather today is beautiful: clear skies and temperatures in the mid-60s. This, my friend, is a North Carolina winter. It hovers between autumn and spring, with the dry leaves that linger on the trees, and the ferns that always stay green. (In my humble opinion, the quality of the air, the quiet breathing of the woods, was more like early spring than late autumn today.)
The last swelling of sunlight coming in my window is all winter, however. The glare would be a burden in any other kind of sky; here and now, however, it is a brave kind of glow, a last shine before it leaves the world cold again until morning. The sky in the west is white with it.
I don't know how, on days like this, I can spend so much of it feeling not-quite-right. But, of course, I continue to try to live fully, to love my life and my circumstances, the plot and setting of the story I'm writing with the help of the author and finisher of faith. I'm trying to be humble, to remember where my true strength lies and not be overly disappointed in myself when I realize (over and over) that my own contributions to my joy are not enough, not without my Savior.
So in an effort to do that, today, I am deeply grateful for my backyard, for North Carolina winters, for my Heavenly Father who provides so much joy, if only I will look to Him.
"Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us." Hebrews 12:1