We were sitting outside in a breezeway. The early morning sun had risen high above us when a few short hours ago it had been behind us. We were sweaty and hot but not miserable. We had gathered to do what we have been called to do, and in that calling I think it fair to say, we all find peace and encouragement. There are five of us that are co-laborers in that calling. We are all ages, different places in life, all having different careers, husbands and children, all different yet all the same in sharing the goal of ministry.
I am convinced that it is the Holy Spirit that binds us all together so well. The oldest of our team is a grandmother, they call her “Cheech.” She has a gaggle of granddaughters that we as a team have become quite fond of. We have declared, they too are our coworkers in Christ because one or more of them is with Cheech on any given day.
As per usual Cheech was working away and the Baby Girl of our group at just barely a year old became slightly disgruntled with her position in the stroller. Our leader, The Writer, she is actually a writer where I just dream of being one. The Writer loves a baby and pounced on the opportunity to hold the fussy Baby Girl. The Writer had been sitting next to me, and our conversations had meandered like a cool stream on a hot day. We would pause and pick up, each conversation refreshing to the soul. We paused again, for her to pick up the fussy baby. She bounced Baby Girl and talked softly to her. The Writer and I exchanged stories of the babies in our lives, the very babies that are headed off to college or are already there.
Our own babies that once would snuggle in close, when the days were long but the years were short. We reminisced about a time when toys littered floors, diapers filled shopping carts, and snacks were always within reach. I found myself joyous and sad at the same time.Baby Girl was getting sleepy so she fussed some more.We talked and she entertained Baby Girl who soon did as babies do when sleep overtakes all other desires. I giggled as Baby Girl nuzzled in close to my friend looking for a soft spot to rest her head.
The Writer is tall and lean. She is beautiful and graceful. She has features that often remind me of an English Aristocrat from bygone days. Her dress is uniquely her own, her clothes are often long and flowing and just give credence to her appearance. She carries herself beautifully, sometimes she reminds me of someone walking among clouds. She is genuinely beautiful. However, if you ask her, she takes none of the credit and gives it all to Jesus. That is just how she is. He gets the credit for all of the good things that she is.
As Baby Girl shifted back and forth, The Writer laughingly said, “It’s all the sharp edges.” She is thin, and unlike me, her bones are not covered and softened by even an ounce of adipose. The truth is, I do not have a sharp edges anywhere unless I happen to have a pair of scissors in my pocket. I have often said babies are fond of me because I can give them a soft place to rest. Eventually Baby Girl found a satisfactory spot to lay her head and dozed off in the arms of The Writer, both were in a place of happiness and rest. The Writer sat back in her folding chair, baby in arms, and we continued where our conversation had left off. We talked of plans and of the Lord. We always talk about the Lord. If our conversation steers away from the Lord, she always brings it back to Him, she is just like that.
The Writer appears sharp in places. If one judges on outward appearance alone, one would think she is not a soft place to land. And it is in that regard she reminds me of the Lord.
It would not be so far-fetched to say to some, “He can appear harsh, distant, and uncomfortable.” He is by definition often with the appearance of the sharp edges. But when you take the time to know Him, to talk with Him, to learn His character, you realize He is the best of places to land. He is full of grace and beauty, truth and authorship much like my friend, The Writer.