Beauty in the Boring

 

I was walking around this morning at my favorite time on the farm--@30 minutes after the sun has risen.  At that point, it's high enough in the eastern sky, for it's light to cast shadows on the farm, creating a budding photographer's dream canvas.  

I'm confined to the yard since Granny is in the house sleeping.  At first, I thought I had taken all the pictures I could. There's only so many angles of the swing (and believe me, I have taken a few hundred of them in the last month!).

But I'm finding something different...

Being "trapped" in one place is causing me to look deeper every morning and evening.  To take the pic of the flower that bloomed or died since yesterday.  To notice the berries hidden among the tree branches.  To watch the light cast new shadows on the pecan trees.  

It reminds me of a class at Dallas Theological School that Dr. Howard Hendricks used to teach.  He asked his students to take a verse and find a certain number of observations about it.  Then the next day, he asked them to do it again--finding different ones.  Then the following day, he did it again.  I don't remember the specifics of how many observations he asked them to find and how many days he did it.  This all came to me second hand through a bible study leader who had taken the class and shared what she had learned--and asked our group to take on the challenge, too.

It was hard!  After finishing the first day, I felt like I had wrung out the verse and gotten everything I could.  There was no possible way to find more.

But I did.  

And I continued to look at it from different angles to soak in everything I could from it.

That's how I feel about Granny's yard.  

I come out to the back porch every morning as the sun comes up.  I watch the fog lift.  At first, I'm chilly and feel like I might need to go inside and grab a sweatshirt, but less than an hour later, I'm moving my chair so the sun's rays don't hit me anymore because it's too warm.

I walk the yard and take pics with my phone.  Somedays, I delete everything I shoot. Others, I capture something new--even though I think I've taken that pic before.  

Often in the past, I have found myself caught up in the same-o/same-o.  Days that look alike.  Tasks that vary so little that I can do them in my sleep.  And it has felt like that is what I've done--just gone through the motions to get through it for the day.

But here on the farm, I'm learning to embrace the ordinary.  To look deeper in everything--from the sunlight casting shadows to the eggs, bacon and toast I make Granny every morning.  To REALLY observe my surroundings and not miss the subtle changes.  To see the life.  And death.  

To find beauty in the things I would have otherwise considered boring.