Drippings

"All of the good and beautiful things from which we occasionally drink tiny droplets of soul-exhilarating joy, God continuously experiences in all their breadth and depth and richness. . . ." --Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy

As I have looked this week at the results of an icestorm, I have seen thousands of frozen droplets dangling like crystals from saplings and fences. I have felt the cold hardening my gloved fingers and even overcoming the fluffed-out warmth of the little Arabian horse between my knees. I have slid down our dirt road on the heels of my shoes, spun up icy sections of pavement with my car, and punched through tough crusts. I have felt my misty breath come back in my face, and seen the white frost bristling my mum's eyebrows after a forty-five minute walk. But unlike this frozen region and these droplets, caught mid-drip into a hard tooth of ice, there are musical and spring-like drippings, nay, torrents of joy drenching me. They have not been sealed up, like these wires, in icy cases; they have not been confined by shortened sunlight, or buried, like the Reeses Peanut-Butter-Cup wrapping I found, underneath six inches of sodden snow. And due to their Source, neither will they be.