My neighbors are residing their house. The discarded vinyl siding and leaky gutters the contractor removed now rest in a heap in the back yard, awaiting disposal. New siding is stacked neatly on pallets at the edge of the driveway, wrapped against the elements in white corrugated boxes covered by a brown tarp. The ends of the boxes peak from beneath the tarp. Tidy factory-printed letters neatly proclaim "Savannah Wicker" as the color inside.
I am intrigued.
"Savannah Wicker" speaks of Southern hospitality, a slower pace, warm weather and sunshine, expansive front porches surrounded by magnolia trees, a simple appreciation for sipping lemonade, time spent welcoming old friends like quiet summer breezes soft as whispers.
"Savannah Wicker" will wrap this home, sheltering the family from spring rains and winter storms.
As I continue to feel tossed by life's storms, a friend writes, "Its time you admit your humanity and take care of yourself. You are not alone."
This morning, an online daily devotional tells of Elijah not hearing God in the wind, the earthquake, nor the fire -- but in the whisper -- ending with the prayer: "Lord, I'm listening."
Simple. Quiet. Prayer.
I am listening.