The other day someone told me that we have all of these ions in our body and that we need to walk with barefeet on the earth, skin to dirt, in order to balance out our ions...or something like that. In the garage today I was searching for a nail because I am endlessly making holes in the walls hanging pictures and rearranging in order to find something that works, a balance between beauty and functionality.... anyway I was in the garage with barefeet and my toes and heels and arches were freezing, numb, and all I could think of as I looked for the nail was that my ions must have been going crazy on that concret floor in the middle of winter. My toes longed for grass.  And, so outside I ran feet in the buff to the mailbox, savoring every bit of grass and stick and mud clump underneath my feet. That immigration paper that we have been waiting for was still not there.

Bill. Advertisement. AAA Living Magazine. No immigration paper.

Perhaps it was the dirt in my toes charging my ions and creating balace in my nervous system, or perhaps it was the way the cold earth tingled against my feet reminding me how silly I can be sometimes, but either way my heart did not sink, my grin did not fade.

I was barefoot in January standing at my mailbox. Beneath my toes, buried below my eye's sight, seeds and bulbs and fruits of the summer wait, prepare, store away safely and gently and miracuosly. They wait because if in their eagerness they pushed through the earth now, surely they would not thrive. They wait because they are strengthened underneath in the warmth of the earthen blanket. They wait because they must.  I can only imagine those little seeds yearing for the summer sun, being pulled towards the top soil, ready to fight gravity and brave the elements for a chance to blossom. And, yet as much as they were created to blossom they were also created to wait for that day.

And, so was I. Waiting is a part of the story. Even though I can not see it happening beneath the winter earth lay evidence of summer's glory. My toes tingle with the cold as I ran back to my house, empty handed but not empty hearted.  Even though I may not always see it happening, beneath the wait for Nan lay evidence of God's glory in this story.

This is my year of, "Kick of your Shoes For you are standing on Holy Ground".  It is my year of being aware of God's presence and activity and blessings. It is the year where my only "resolution" is to not stand in a stupor before a burning bush with Moses, but to kick off my shoes and acknowledge the God that I love.  The grass was mightly chilly today, but not nearly as bitter as the concrete garage floor.

Shoes off, wind whipped, toes tingling....Oh how good it is to know that summers story is already in motion right underneath my feet.