I sat in the hammock today. The first time in quite a while. It’s usually my teenage daughter’s place to “get way”. At first I wanted to sit in the grass. Haven’t done that in a while either. Since I wasn’t wearing my contacts, I didn’t see the ants encroaching upon me until one bit (or stung, whichever it is they do) my ankle. “Typical,” I thought.
That was when I moved to the hammock. I was hiding. Hiding from things I didn’t want to talk about, because I didn’t know how to talk about them, because I didn’t know if I was right or wrong or even somewhere in-between.
So I sat and gazed over my house and yard and how nice my husband keeps it all. I watched a butterfly, fought off some yellow jackets, and listened to the birds and the squirrels play. I thought about how God takes care of them. Then I remembered that still they sometimes build their nest in the wrong place or perch in a spot that fries them to a crisp.
Then I got up, wandered around, went inside and wrote it all down.