It's July and the golden hues outside my window beckon. "Come," they say, "It's beautiful out here!" I love the feeling of bare feet on concrete. It's cool for July and the sticky sweet of the afternoon rain still lingers on the breeze. (I should have my car washed more often. It always rains right after I have my car washed!) I stare straight into that golden orb, and I watch it sink - slowly, surely. I lean against the balcony railing, secure. Another day draws to a close. God ties His flaming bow on it, and that midnight blue curtain falls velveteen across the sky - star strewn.
I wonder what tomorrow's light will bring?
Because these long summer days pass too quickly, and there are unknowns - so many unknowns on the horizon. And the questions rise with my heart rate.
What will this new year be like? Will I prove good enough? Will I fit? Will I be able to give these kids all they deserve? Will I have enough to pour out? Will there be enough time? What do these new horizons hold? Will I be ready?
I look at the loaves and fishes in my hands and I wonder: Can you - will you - do it again, Jesus? Will you multiply my loaves and fishes life? How many times does He have to prove faithful for me to stop asking? I don't know.
So many questions. Some I can't even put words to. So few answers. And as the last flecks of gold disappear, I lean - beloved disciple against my Savior. And here is the Bread of Heaven, Manna to my lips. I embrace the questions, eat the "What is it?" and find myself nourished. And as I lean here, all the questions lead to one: How will He not also, along with Jesus, graciously give us all things? It is its own answer.
And I find that, when I choose to lean, the questions sustain.