Color of a dream

His fingers inch across the space between until they find the small of my back. Like playing keys on a piano he presses and soothes–muscles stiff from sleep. Hazy gray light is heavy in our bedroom, and after nearly two months spent waiting for the window coverings to arrive, we’re thankful for the lingering dark on so lazy a Saturday morning.

It’s the color of a dream in here, he says, in his scratchy, first-morning voice. I scribble it down in my memory because it’s both true and beautiful and I want to put words to it later.

After, there is a three mile morning walk. We stop along the way to wander through the newly-framed house on the corner, agreeing that our floorplan is better. When we come to the fishing lake we spot a bright flash and sure enough, a cardinal hops between the branches in a cluster of tall, breezy trees. We rightly conclude that it’s a good sign–a little piece of home come along with us.

Next come fresh-from-the-oven scones and loose-leaf chai sweetly brewed with coconut milk. Homemade whipped cream dolloped atop. We have a new Such The Spot here, a brick patio nestled in a nook out back. We sit for an hour at least, talking of the things long past and the things to come, allowing for a second the things most recent just to quietly lie. I let my head fall against his shoulder and look out–look up–at the forest that climbs steeply along the mountain foothill behind our place. For just a moment there’s the most beautiful sting and I’m awestruck all over again at the gift of life and love and the moments we’ve been given.

Before they laid the foundations of this house we walked circles on this piece of land, praying bold prayers for our lives to come. The words spilled different from each of our mouths but the themes were the same. We prayed to be rooted and to sprout. We asked to be fruitful. Over and over we sought His presence and will and favor.

Fewer than two days after pulling into town I saw a post on Facebook. The church we’d been streaming since August and were eagerly looking forward to attending in person sought a new team member: communications director. I read the brief description and recognized myself in every word. I was more curious than convinced but it nagged. My mind and my heart replayed the prayers we had prayed long before we got here: root us. Sprout us. Make us fruitful.

Tomorrow I’m going to work. Not from my desk at home but at our new church in our new community. I’m charged with telling the story of our church, yes, but moreover a much grander story.

I’ve heard it said that God works in mysterious ways and I believe it to be true. Sometimes, though, God works in ways that leave little doubt as to where His will falls. And this, I know, is one of those times. If you’re the praying type, I’d love for you to remember me this week as I begin a new chapter with a heart desiring to shine a light for His kingdom, right here on Earth.