Is This the Perfect Saturday?

Maybe I’m just in one of those romanticizing moods, but it feels like this might be the perfect Saturday.

The windows are open, letting the crisp, cool air freshen up the house. The sun is shining bright, though not suffocating us with its heat. The slightest northern breeze is keeping the air, leaves, and even the wind chime, moving.

Instrumental worship music is softly playing over the speakers, and the chickens are announcing loudly from the coop they’ve just completed their daily laying duty.

The biscuits I made this morning, I spent a bit of time on. They turned out looking like a professional had made them. Fluffy, rounded tops that browned evenly in the oven. The sausage gravy was the perfect thickness (for once), and the sometimes-picky children commented on how good breakfast was this morning.

For right now, in the satiated-belly peace of the day, it feels like the perfect Saturday.

Fo so many consecutive weeks, we’ve been running like headless chickens. Too much to do, too many places to go, and no workable plan for how to get it all done. It’s been harrowing and stressful, sometimes seeming as if the pace would never slow.

Just yesterday, I was preserving corn, more peppers, and organizing the dwindling inventory of our freezers. That was after I cleaned the chicken coop out by myself and nearly sweat to death in the process.

To have such a relaxed and enjoyable morning is a treat that goes well beyond hot fluffy biscuits and thick sausage gravy.

I woke up before sunrise without an alarm this morning. The coffee was started soon after, and while it was brewing I went out to feed and water the chickens (and guineas). While I was outside, I made the rounds on our hilltop homestead.

The garden, that was such a loss during our unprecedented heat wave, has started to come back. I’ve harvested enough cucumbers for pickles. The green beans are coming back with fervor (and flavor!). The raspberry bushes I thought were goners now have blossoms on them, and leaves fit for tea-making.

I see tiny bell peppers on the pepper bushes, and tomatoes are hinting a ripening hue from beneath the tomato leaves.

The new hens have started laying and we’re collecting more eggs a day than we can keep up with. Water-glassing season is officially upon us.

I intend to spend this potentially perfect Saturday doing minimal cleaning and maximum knitting. Both kids are due for new winter hats, and it seems we’re always in need of more dishcloths. It just so happens I’ve got yarn on hand for both purposes.

I’m reveling so much in this quiet, beautiful day. Things have been hard. Across our state, across the country, across the world. There have been many days in any given situation, I’ve been ready to give up and admit defeat.

The garden was one such situation. I was ready to pull up all of the green bean plants, because clearly they were done for. I never got around to doing it, though, and praise God He didn’t let me accomplish that task. The green beans are on track to produce more in the next few weeks than I harvested all last summer in Minnesota before our move.

The raspberries had shriveled and burned and I saw dollar signs flying away for the money I had spent on them that appeared to be for naught. Now the leaves are healthier than when I bought the plants, and the blossoms are innumerable.

The last three times I’ve made sausage gravy, it’s been hardly more than sausage soup. I thought I had lost my touch and we should aim for a new Saturday tradition. This morning’s gravy was the best I’ve ever made both in texture and in flavor.

I’m reveling in this day because when things seem beyond hope and on the verge of destruction, even death, the Lord may yet breathe new life. He may yet renew. What we thought was lost, He will make a way.

See, I am doing a new thing!

    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness

    and streams in the wasteland.

Isaiah 43:19

Times have been hard. Times may get harder, still. But sit back and see what the Lord has in store. Sometimes the worst makes a way for the best.

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