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I open my eyes and wonder what words await while the sound of raindrops landing on the porch bannister become more apparent.

The open umbrella left to dry billows like a chest taking in air.

I inhale, exhaling as the truck idling beside the sidewalk out front pulls away from the curb. I inhale again as another engine revs.

The wind picks up the umbrella—a giant blue moon rising from the horizon. It lands with a thud. I know it could be blown away but prefer it open, like the books balancing in my lap.

It is as simple as breath in, breath out, this coming into His Presence, as natural as light resulting from the wick of the candle. When was it more complicated, and why?

From near or far away, His whispers land on ears, soothing not accusing. His breath entering into opened up lives, leaving impressions both infinite and intimate.

Expounding, inflating—these lilting, lasting inhalations mixing with exultations. Every moment becomes worship when prefaced with praise.

I hold up my hand, stretching my fingers, and for that moment, marvel at what it will accomplish in one day. A rock of resilience, a tender surrender, with it I will become quenched and sated. How profoundly purposeful and inordinately overlooked are the simplest and grandest things of life.

The wind swoops up the umbrella, it dives off the railing, rising and falling again and again before it is rescued by the Tree.

I suppose I will always be a little like a big blue umbrella on a rainy, windy day.

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