Jubilee's Jottings

  I rarely gasp. Almost never am I surprised to the extent of an involuntary exclamation. Excitement comes in the form of a slight flutter or pounding of my heart, a smile or grin on my face. I have never heard myself gasp in pleasant surprise until the other night. I walked down the flights of stairs to the ground level. I was met with the balmy evening air—balmy though it was February. The sky was dark; the stars were out. I turned my head and saw the moon and gasped aloud. A perfect crescent, almost as small as it gets, but the full moon was outlined in the shadow. Above the moon were two bright stars. I could not see many other stars, just the two above the moon. And then the sky. It was not black, but a deep, deep blue that faded into the horizon. As picturesque as the full moon in autumn. Why did I care? I was on my way to a book study meeting, and I had just left my knees, where I told God how I forget too easily. Recently I had been questioning why God cares so mu...

  The morning was cool but lovely. A coat was the only extra layer needed for a walk outdoors. I hopped out of my car at the trail head and began at a steady pace up the path. The month is February, and I live in Pennsylvania, but the weather and the plants can’t seem to decide what season it really is. Because of that, the snowdrops are up. The little flowers start out looking similar to crocuses, but the flower is more like a lily of the valley—a single white flower hanging down like a bell or water drop. The poor bits of finery will probably not withstand the temperature plunge later, but they look pretty while they last. I had to pick some. Two little flowers found their way into my coat zipper. I didn’t like the scent of the flowers, but I thought they must not smell very nice, that’s all. The flowers sort of smelled skunky. No mind, the flowers are pretty anyway. Five minutes into my walk, after passing many little bunches of snowdrops, I picked a few more. I sniffed t...

            I’ve never lived away from home before, but now I do. I like a tidy room, but leftover breakfast dishes sometimes get in the way. I enjoy cooking—in fact, it’s my job—but groceries won’t find their way to my fridge, unless I go to the store and buy them. A walk outdoors greatly improves my day, but the clock seems determined to run out of time. I need clean clothes, a tidy bathroom, and a nicely swept floor, however, there seems to be more important things to do half the time.           A few “non-essentials” creep into the space between my shifts and writing deadlines. Things like eating healthy food for my body, working out, having relational contact with other humans, and reading. All these things "don’t matter," they just affect my everyday life.           Other extremely important things like to fill the place of all those “non-essentials," like wasting my time, pr...