It could have gone unobserved. In fact most of the people on the road were not looking in that direction. But a friend was driving along when she saw a heart shaped cloud and felt compelled to stop. To enjoy it. To click a picture, and send it to her aunt who was recently widowed.
"I think this is your husband sending his love!"
This week the four of us sang to my granddaughter on Facetime. We did five rounds of happy birthday, including pretty much everyone who has a name that is fun to say. In that moment my senses were saturated with sounds and sights that offer joy. Any frustrations that hankered for my attention were silenced.
I bought fresh rhubarb from my local farmer and mixed it with raspberries for a cobbler. We ate slowly, savoring the swivel of sweet and tart.
Sometimes I wonder if I can almost see God peeking from behind the curtain.
"Is this enough?" He mouths. Enough to sooth my distress. Enough to make me smile. Enough to convey that I am loved. Known. Provided for.
The variety in His messages is astonishing. Birds calling overhead as they discuss late spring travel plans. Hard hatted men perched high on a pole with headlamps fixing a power outage in the dark. Apples smiling from the bowl on the counter ready to become pie. Trees who cannot choose between green and white, so they wear both.
There are days when I look back at my dissatisfaction, uncomfortable with the similarity of my behavior and that of an overindulged eight year old on her birthday. Tossing aside carefully wrapped gifts in a reckless pile.
Other times, like this morning, I am grateful for each one.
