If I died tomorrow I'd want people to learn joy from my life.
Joy in crisp wind, choppy water, dive bombing mocking birds, the way golden retrievers' hair looks like silken waves when they chase a frisbee, the warmth of a smokey ill-built fire, hot press-pot coffee from ethiopia when waking up cramped and sore after a night under the stars, seeing children's faces light up when they learn about how the nine times table works, their dropped jaw as a raven steals from a killdeer's nest, beavers floating in a half-frozen pond, the knowledge that someone has just met Jesus and have fallen at His feet is adoration, discussion about theology and how it's not a task only of ancient pedagogy to be thus dismissed, friends in far places that remember to write, red-winged black birds kareeking to each other among the cattails, knitting a warm hat for a little one to keep her ears warm, the touch and sight of natural textiles, the slubbiness of linen, the softness of alpaca, the strength of cotton, the smallest things like a nutchatch walking upside down on a tree, how themes are woven into novels, how butter makes things taste better, clothes that do things like insulate, wick moisture or keep rain out while not making you overheat, cars that don't break down, warm fresh-baked whole wheat bread, unconditional love, quirkiness, God being bigger than all your fears, truth, and hymns from scripture:
I know not why God's wondrous grace
To me He hath made known,
Not why, unworthy, Christ in love,
Redeemed me for His own.
But "I know whom I have believed
And am persuaded that He is able
To keep that which I've committed
Unto Him against that day."
~Daniel Whittle
