Sitting here with bronchitis-tightened chest, resting, I gaze through dirt-tinted pane towards my mountain. View finds attention much closer. My covered front porch, peeled paint and splintering wood, towards a scene that glows to me more than a sunrise on the clearest of country morns. My daddy, whose hair can no longer be referred as salt n’ pepper, but distinguished deep silver, with lined face and handsome weathered body. He knelt and hunched over a wide wooden bench that came with the home for rent an almost three years ago; our first real roots since covenant of eight years. Next to him, my precious baby, our first-born, who no longer needs mother’s help to make sandwiches, shower, dress, even dress and feed her sisters to help me. They are building.
This is a guest post written by my daughter, Rebecca, who lives in North Carolina at the foot of a few mountains. For the rest of her touching story about a calling being birthed in the heart of a child and a healing happening in her own heart, please see her blog here: From My Mountain View
Thanks to all of you who read the words I put here. May you have a Christmas Day filled with a heavy presence of the Child King, born anew with a burning reality in your heart today.
Much love & many blessings ~
(c) Robin Lawrimore, December 25, 2011