Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Last colors

We face the setting sun here. Here in the west, here in Bellingham, here in our home with the large picture windows (at both ends of the house) pointing toward the bay. But many days, I don't see the setting sun. Clouds cover it too many days to count, of course. So I'm excused from that notice. But what of the other days? What of the days when I have my back facing the windows? What about the days when I'm just too dang busy or pre-occupied to notice?

Last night, as I was settling Grampie into his chair after his afternoon nap (he sleeps longer and longer each) and asking him about dinner, he pointed out the window behind me and said, "Look at the light!" I turned around and saw this:




These pictures were taken with my iPhone and no filter. The colors, textures and variety were God's alone. I stepped out onto our front patio to take these pictures and aimed my little phone every which way across the west to catch the different ways the fire looked in the firmament. But it was Grampie who'd noticed. My brain was too busy thinking about dinner and his toe and J's Achilles', and our lack of care-giver for today (yep, you can guarantee THAT was on my mind!), and how E is holding up covering Super Bowl week, and whether SK will get things organized so she can go to the weekend YL camp with her kids, and a whole host of other things I think about every second that aren't worth sharing or able to be shared. You know, minutiae and monumental stuff that keeps me stuck inside my own head and not looking out the window at the real show...

Until my old, demented Grampie points it out. Grampie! Grampie who barely notices when we stick his foot in warm water or comb his hair or have a conversation, is ALSO not consumed by worries. He's open to seeing those colors and light when they show up because he isn't distracted by other things.

There's something fitting about that, isn't there? The dying of the day in such gorgeous color pointed out and enjoyed by one who is also living the colors of the aged, or (if I can be so blunt) of the dying. He's in his last colors, And I pray that we can see these days with him as beautiful, as beautiful and glorious as that dying sun.

2 comments:

Melanie said...

Such beautiful thoughts! I am caring for my aged mother at home as well and so often I'm so busy that I don't stop to sit with her and see what is going on in "her" world. A lovely sunset. Thank you for this post.

Pamela M. Steiner said...

Ah yes! Take time to stop and smell the roses and watch the sunset/sunrise. How lovely of God to give you both that glorious moment. Thanks for sharing it with us. It was indeed very special.