Discovering Grass

I'm here, home alone. Seth's asleep and Ben's at school.

***

And now Seth's awake and Ben's at clinic.

The cat inside me is scratching to get out again. Or is something scratching to get in? I don't know. But I pray I can recognize it when it comes.

Seth and I go outside for a walk. I hope to find the new idea I need to discover. Maybe the freshness and newness of the day will help me. The warm wind, blowing branches and green grass.

We stop walking and decide to be part of the wind, branches and grass. I realize Seth's never felt grass before. I lay him on my lap and he feels the blades with his fingers. He discovers grass.

When was the last time I discovered grass? It's everywhere. Even where it isn't we start to grow it. And sometimes where it is we tear it out, pave a parking lot and replant it in patches. So I see it. But when did I last feel it?

I feel it now. It feels different from Oregon or Utah grass. I wonder if the BYU garden has this kind of grass. I wouldn't know; I never felt it.

I wonder if the scratching is not a new discovery, but to keep discovering those things I think I know and love. Find a new fleck to love in Sethy's blue-green eyes. Write something new and don't just reread what I've written.

I put my earbuds in at the beginning of this walk, but I didn't turn on the music. I hoped instead it would help attune me to hear the Lord's voice whisper what I needed. It did. He whispered, "Write what you're thinking." I hope to keep my spiritual earbuds in. And to keep discovering the grass.