God
There are a few blush colored blossoms on my Tulip Poplar in the front yard and a flush of scarlet azaleas are peeking through my front window. It is rather bizarre considering it is January, but this has been a strange winter in the South. My confused blooms are at risk if a frost or snow blusters through, as it is known to do in mid-February and it will make for a much less spectacular Spring. At least my tulips and daffodils are holding back a bit, so there’s hope.
I was edging the yard today, trying to beat the darkening sky and cross mowing off of my to-do list. The clouds provided some relief from the blistering heat we have had this week in Atlanta and the breeze quickened ahead of the thunderheads off to the north. Something caught my eye unexpectedly as I followed the curve of the pavers and I laid the weed eater down to inspect it more closely. A tiny Blue Jay, still fuzzy with down and a few straggly feathers, attempted to hop out of the way and into the safety of the nearby bushes. I peered into the tree to see if it had fallen from the nest, but the squawk of a large Robin distracted me as it popped out from under the Indian Hawthorne.
I am very excited for another opportunity to guestblog for North Point Community Church! Check out the website for thoughts on the Guardrails series that Andy Stanley just finished (incredible!): http://northpointonline.tv/blog/posts . I would love to hear your thoughts, so don’t forget to leave a comment on the site and check out all the other information posted while you are there….
I grew up in Florida-West Palm Beach, New Smyrna, and finally landing on the Space coast in third grade. We also lived in California for a few years, but I don’t remember the beaches there, just the San Diego zoo and a small earthquake I saw through my three year old eyes. I love the beach, specifically the warmth, the briny smell that clings to your skin after swimming all day and splashing through the occasional tide pools that form, exposing the coquina rock. When I drive over the last bridge to the barrier island my parents live on, and the salt spray mixes in with the scent of cut grass and the occasional ”fragrance” of the brackish water of the Banana River, I know I am almost home.
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