a way. The thousands of years to come flash through his mind in an instant. The rush, the color, the commotion and pain and noise and beauty—and just as quickly, dark again. Present. He lowers his attention to the void, a boundless joy sparked in his eyes.
When my brother was 4, he hated singing in church. One day, laughing, his Sunday school teacher told my mom how he’d explained his silence: “I sing nothing.”
That hasn’t changed much over the past 12 years, and my dad doesn’t love singing either. They’re usually silent during worship time at church, which used to really bother me. "They're not worshiping," I thought. "Singing IS worship. It's how you do it."
Honestly, held quite a narrow view of worship. It was a 15-minute slot on Sunday mornings with an organ and harmony and hymn books. But while singing is a large and beautiful part of worship, I want you to see what I didn’t: that there is so, so much more
South Dakota can be crazy windy—especially across the flat, wide-open fields. The greenhouse I work at just so happens to sit on the edge of one such windy field. Since two thirds of our plants don’t actually fit in the greenhouse, they sit outside: where they can get quite the beating. I kid you not, I’ve had a wheelbarrow fly across the entire parking lot and road on an extra windy day. It’s ridiculous.
When I got hired in May, we had tons of plants out there: a sea of annuals and petunias, 10 pallets of bushes, and around 20 trees planted in little five-gallon buckets. Something that endlessly annoyed me (and a handful of outspoken customers) was that the wind always knocked the trees over. Always. They were simply too tall and top-
Hello! I'm Anna, a college student living in the Midwest. I'm a strong believer in uncontrollable laughter, powerful words, and a morning cup of coffee. I pray these posts will encourage you to live a full life with and for God: unhindered. Follow me on social media for post updates!