I love this time of year. Around Freeman House, things are turning green, the daffodils are blooming, and the birds are splashing in the birdbath. Spring is flirting with us today and I'm falling hard, lured by the possibility of what's to come. After all, isn't that the best thing about February? Its promise of possibility?
As I look around, I think my little world sings of just that: possibility. The house is a renovation mess right now, but you'll see its pretty potential if you look long enough. Boxes - dozens of boxes - hold a small library, and the promise of reading-away many long, sweet days. The kitchen hides opportunities of chocolate tarts and apricot-glazed ham and fresh blueberry ice cream and warm, homemade bread. Sewing baskets hint at the likelihood of hand stitched quilts covering freshly laundered beds. Even the first few plants in the (half-finished) sitting room seem to be exclaiming in green, telling passersby of the probability of the magic this room will house.
It's true, I think, that even in the midst of challenges and setbacks and problems... even then... it's still simple to locate possibility. I love the Bible story in Mark 9, where Jesus delivers a father and son out of a scary situation. Help me if you can, the father pleaded to Jesus. "'If You can?' All things are possible to him who believes," Jesus said.
I knew it. Possibility is biblical. It's there for the taking to anyone who believes, regardless of status or situation or story.
I so appreciate the comments and calls and emails you have sent my way. You're all precious to me. Thanks. And I wanted you to know that despite the occasional sadness or tears, I don't dwell there... in the past. Oh no. I may visit sometimes, but I dwell somewhere else. I dwell in possibility, too.