A List

I made a list the other night of things that I love. My mate was the first thing that came to my mind and I wondered if that love really shows. I put the smell of rain on the same list. I guess it doesn’t take much to make me happy. But I wasn’t comparing any of the things on the list or putting them in any sort of order. After all, coffee and the wind were on that list, too. Yes, that’s right—the wind. A coffee addict would understand the coffee, but who would understand the wind?

My parents went to Illinois back when the oil fields there needed men in the late forties. Mother has described that part of the country to me from her perspective: lush greenness, spectacular flowers, and no wind whipping you first one way and then the other. Boring….How could they stand it? To leave goat head stickers, prickly pear cactus, searing heat, and constant wind—why would they ever want to leave such paradise? They even thought that they could make a living in that part of the country. So much for what thought did.

The parents came back from their little Yankee adventure with another child and nary a nickel to their names. But they came home to Texas to stay for good. And whether or not it was always great, at least Texas was good for them and their family. People here knew them and cared about them. And some things just feel right about Texas—the wind being one of those things.

I used to wake up very early in the mornings on the weekends and take my horse out for a quick ride. In the fall the mists would hover around the ground and we were almost invisible to anyone from a distance. Then one morning we went for a run in the fog and I heard something different near us. A sudden breeze broke the mists and a pickup was nearly on us before I could turn the filly. Had that breeze not blown just at that moment . . . I have thought about it a few times since then. There simply was no wind that morning. But then there was. Maybe I have a good reason to love the wind—and its Maker.

I don’t expect that wind, coffee, or even the smell of rain will ever be a major part of my caring concern in this life. But when I sit on the porch with my mate and watch the storm clouds bringing in wind and rain, I feel more loved for the glory of those gifts that are wrapped around me in spirit. Nope, some things just can’t be listed when we are thankful for the real gifts. Who would understand?