Black and White

When I left the house, there was just enough light to see the contrasts of the gray road and the black trees. Color was missing from the predawn world. The landscape reminded me of the black and white photos that I had seen on display at the library the day before. Slowly, as we ran up the hill, color returned to the houses, the sky, the land. I thought of all the times that I have failed to see that there is more than one way to see. I often forget that the world looks different to a four-year-old than it does to one who is 37. It often looks different to my husband than to me. Because of my failure to understand the differences in perspective, I often miss opportunities to learn from others. I fail to give grace where it is needed. I fail to love with a love that sees in more than black and white.

When I first came up out of the basin, the sky was filled with billowing, gray storm clouds to the east, but the sky to the west was still a pale, winter's blue with just a smudge of cloud above the Peak. By the time that I turned for home, the gray clouds had almost completely taken over the sky. Only a bit of blue still showed above the horizon. How quickly the view can change! I often forget that the struggles and joys of today will soon be lost to the advance of time. Soon, I will wish for the days of diapers and division with decimals. But these days will be replaced with other equally demanding and precious. Today, I must love with passion and grace the people that God has given to me to love so that when the view changes, they remember a mother's love that pointed them to a God of even greater love.

The trick is to not let the lessons that the Spirit whispers to the sound of footfalls on gravel be drowned out by the daily din.