I sort my Skittles, eating them by color. I class my gmail labels, ROYGBIV down the line. I vacillate in my closet--like shirts together? or like colors? and colors usually win. Food is arranged on my plate, carefully kept from touching. Aesthetic is important in issues like these. I am keenly aware of complimentary colors, pairing shades and hues with their compliments and my favorite colors were chosen for these reasons alone.

Today the horizon is no longer a line of black cowlicks on end, but a fury of red buds waking and stretching, surprised at the warmth and welcoming it. I know how they feel. My soul is stretching too. Surprised at how difficult it is to break out of my winter's cove, to wake and be awake and acutely aware of all the ways that this breaking summer will be different than all the others. I am nostalgic like that.

This morning a few friends and I spent a few hours at The Villiage Diner, an establishment at which I've never had the pleasure of eating (and still haven't for that matter). The purpose: To ingest a foot and a half circumference of Bisquick and Blueberries. The Flapjack challenge was on. Before it was all said and done, five t-shirts donned our winning men and one very disappointed girl surrendered half-way through. It was fun, though I didn't rise to the challenge. Flapjacks aren't my thing.

I do not like to drive. Yes, true. I don't. Perhaps it's for the same reason I don't like to fly--too much time spent doing both has ruined me for a chance at true love. But one of the things I like about driving is that it means plenty of time by myself. To pray. To think. To remind. To stir up. To muse. To linger or to not. My drive time has been a treasure in the past few weeks. More than a respite between commitments, I find myself slowing down, letting others pass me on the highway, taking the scenic route. Where am I off to in such a hurry anyway?

Yesterday I sat on the grass talking on to the phone to my very pregnant friend (have I mentioned that both of my very best friends are expecting? I don't think I have.). While I sat there in capris and sandals, hordes of ants came crawling all over my feet. This is gross. So I moved to the porch, where crowds of flies swarmed around my person. So I moved to the back porch, where for the third time in my life I received a mosquito bite. I went inside--and lost cell-phone signal. Sorry Liz.

Tomorrow I am teaching a Women's Sunday School class at my church. I chose my Bible Character subject in faith, knowing that she was known for a particular area in which I was struggling. I figured, if I knew I had to teach a lesson on her, I might be able to get my act together. In doing my research, though, I've found that our struggles are not the same, but the antidote is: speaking the promises of God keep us from slipping into many sins. I've been learning to speak some promises lately.

Last night it was quiet for a moment at Hurleys. I'm not sure that's ever happened at Hurleys, especially during a Battle of the Bands, but she has that gift. She played her twenty minute set and laughed and was gracious and I think for a minute the Holy Spirit blew through and rested on the shoulders of people who couldn't know what that strange sensation was. But we did. We were waiting for it and we knew.

We're no fools in these parts. We know what's hitting us square--it's really no surprise and it's a welcome sight. Spring and summer in this area is the closest thing to heaven that I've found here on earth. The lessons are multiplied and the experiences are just beginning. There's enough time to take it all in and enough daylight to make it last. We make it count.