I am happy to look out the window and not see snow.  Believe it or not, only a week and a half ago there was 2 inches of it covering the ground.  But the relentless season continues to cling to us here in Eau Claire.  Most of the week has been cold and gray with icy drizzle.  Thanks to God's consistency, I can have confident hope that it won't be long before hot sun and popsicles are the norm.

And looking back at some of the pictures I've taken these last couple months has reminded me just how much God did to lift my spirits through the cold season.  One of these boosts was a birthday party with Eddy's cousin Elie, filling two whole days with warm swimming, treats, games and laughter with relatives and old friends.  It was a great reunion and a great way to make it through winter smiling.

Elijah, son of a long lost friend of mine, and new best bud for Eddy!

Eddy and his blue steed

I agree, Lindsey, a water park party is the perfect time for a book.

Eva Parramoure having a blast with everyone

children in their cool multi-colored glasses

Elie opening her presents

Group present euphoria

Eva on the big kid slide

Eddy braving the big kid slide with me

I have a love, a dear one far away.  An invisible bond ties my heart to his, somehow.  Somehow we are part of each other, though doing very different things, though in very different places.  I am incomplete apart from him. Yet I have him even when he's gone.  He's with me, in my heart.  I guess I left part of me with him, and kept part of him with me.  That way we are one together, and together apart, and incomplete without each other.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but only if that heart has once known presence.  I think of the presence of my beloved, and long for it.  Everyday greetings are made special.  Goodbyes are much more meaningful.  A last look in those noble eyes, both confident and vulnerable, knowing and asking, happy and sad, then he goes.  His expression remains.  His beautiful face stays steady before my eyes, though behind my eyes, in the swirling mists of my heart.  My hands tingle for the feel of the solid him.  My eyes look through his reflection, waiting for the true him to cut through his surroundings, to be here.

My eyes are heavy with waiting.  My arms strain for the stress to release at that first hug.  I will fold into him, warm and happy, one with myself and my love.  Then the dance of reunion will begin, with talk and laughs and play and hugs.  Everything will be known, everything made known.  Until our next departure, we will be as normal again.  And then the time will loom, will draw closer, and dare to come.  I will hurry to that last kiss, a sign of loyalty, of love, of attraction, of enduring patience until he comes again.

All the books, talks, mentors, schedules, vacations, and plans will not make up for work.  That old unglamorous notion somehow never loses power.  It's how God made us, I guess.

My life has been a ruckus lately.  Decisions and situations can't stop throwing me curve balls, and I'm not a good aim.  It's been easy to excuse getting behind every day.  And people are so understanding.  Truth is, though, I haven't given good ol' work enough credit.

Well, nature has been too generous to ignore, so even after an errand that stretched three hours too long, I had to get Eddy and me outside.  There was much to be done, and no more snowy excuses!  It was work.  Try keeping a 3.5-year-old boy on task with a good attitude, and you'll know it was work.  But somehow I knew it would turn out right.

Of course, sun, fresh air, and natural beauty played their parts well.  But theirs were not the only parts.  Somewhere in that buckle-down consistency rose a steadiness, which emerged into pleasantness.  That soon became happy determination, and out of nowhere popped grand satisfaction in a job done -- and done well.

Freedom and fun gained their color!  Excitement got new batteries!  And our little team was nicer to each other, having helped each other finish, being on the same side again.  Never has something that looked so stern when approaching, turned out so kind and helpful.  Then again, maybe that has happened before...when I met God.

He made us well.  No matter what mess we've made of this world, turn back to how you were intended, and you'll still see glimpses of how things were...in the beginning.

A scene within the scene of the sun; a traveling therapist sets up a canopy to shade his customers.  Going from place to place, he offers rest and growth.  He helps you see yourself and change.

Go meet him if you're ready.  When seeking help you must prepare for change.  Nervous but expectant, you go.  Out into, you enter.  Shock hits you, but you brace and accept it.  The therapist works, an army of gentle soldiers come falling from the heavens, driving out stress with a hum.

Face the treatment, look upward.  They fall on your face, wake you to feel.  A million little soldiers tap your skin.  You are real.  You can feel.  You are able for something right now.

When his schedule is in order, he is timely, but does not over stay his welcome.  Each town he visits bids him come again before too long.  The ground thanks him for his transformation.  His reputation precedes him, always powerful, always somber.  Without talk he works.  The world and his patients brace to bear the discomfort of treatment.  All is new by the time he is gone.

Spring.  Spring, spring, spring!

I love the sun.  The sun follows the pattern.  The sun is consistent.  Those fickle clouds can hide it when they want, but they can't keep it from angling higher northward in the sky and rising earlier each spring day to vanquish the cold of morning and winter.

Literal tons of snow covered the ground, and lay in mountains not long ago.  I often pondered what it would take to remove one of those piles.  A bulldozer?  A jack hammer?  A crane?  And what damage would the grass and earth suffer?  What repair would it need?  Ah, but the sun!  Leave it to the sun and watch your mountain turn hill turn mound turn bump turn popsicle turn frisbee field, all in a matter of days.  The sun is timely. The sun vanquishes.  The sun stays.  The sun penetrates.  The sun transforms.  It even gardens.

Dawn in spring, my alarm clock from apathy and sleep.  My dreamlike visitor calls my name aloud in the silence of my mind, and beckons me out, out, into the newborn day, come and talk, come weep, come sing, come awaken to new life once again.  In my dreamy haze, I do not see myself donning jeans and tennis shoes.  The woman rushing out has no stained work coat, messy hair or baggy eyes, no.  The voice of the sun creates another picture, of fairy land and princesses.  Long, flowing golden locks swish back on the glowing white night gown and silk-lined cape, as the mysterious someone calls her out to the shadowy mist, for love and everything noble, gentle, and grand.

That soft, piercing pink-orange glow, it somehow forgets all dirt and warts and spring mess.  Instead, the heart, the life, the beauty and curves and lines and contrasts and shadows explode!  Enchantment is reality, and passion beyond measure is everywhere.  The heart of a thing is exposed, and it glows so bright its casing vanishes as the glass of a bulb.  Instantly all people are connected, unhidden, related, helped and hurt, indifferent or zealous, but all flowing together one a river of time.  As the voice of the sun shines in my mind, it does in others, my distant neighbors across the fields, the acquaintances in nearby towns, lost friends a world away.  They seem near, they seem alive and people once again.  Their hearts beat and their days flow as mine, they are one small prayer, one thought, one tear away.

On canvas the sun is hard to recreate.  I think of orange and yellow and the sharp painful light, to which you shield your eyes.  My paints are insufficient.  A bit of yellow mixed with white, the color of lilies, a pale easter yellow, eggshell, then white.  Where is the glow?  Where is the sharpness?  How large must the white be to seem brighter in the center?  It occurs to me that the effect of one's lashes as they shield their eyes plays a part in how brightness appears, but also -- and what I discovered in time to paint it -- was contrast.  The sun's distinguishing characteristic is it's far superior brightness than anything around it.  It's light is the source of all color and shape on the earth.  So the edges of my canvas took on reds and oranges and dark yellows, fading and brightening and reaching straight and unwavering toward one point.  That point, that whiteness had the palest yellow poking into it, reaching, but being extinguished next to the outstretching ball of whiteness.  The effect turned out pretty good, but still nothing compared to the true sun, the cradle and blankets in which God placed this small earth.