Sweet smell of grace...

I came back up the hill from the stables drunk on the scents of wild roses and honeysuckle. The air was laden with the sweet perfume of the obnoxious pests that choke out pastures and kill trees. Every thing has a saving grace, even these two invaders.
This assault on the senses comes with every season here on the farm. In the summer, the smell of fresh mown hay floats over our hills inviting you to come lie down and watch the clouds drift by. The soft songs of turkeys bedding down at night, the bell like peepers singing at the pond, the yipping of the coyotes in the darkness... my ears become attuned to the sounds of summer. Junie B’s coat is slick and shiny, smooth to the touch. Lettuce fresh picked from the ground tastes crisp and sharp. In the mornings, the air is still as the heat of the day builds until the breezes begin in the afternoon. The feel of wind on sweaty skin is a call to give thanks for my body’s built in air conditioning system.
At the local nursery a few weeks ago, I bemoaned the unseasonable cold weather we were having. Wilma smiled and reminded me that I would be longing for this cool weather soon. Now in the middle of hay cooking heat and dry weather, I remember her words and smile. To everything, there is a season indeed.
Two of my close friends are enduring times of trial and tribulation. One is walking the way of the widow while the other is living with a husband who is dying by inches. I watch and wait, looking for the signs of their seasons, signs of saving grace. For the widow, a time of redefinition as a person standing alone, seeking to find balance in her new tree pose. Some days are easier than others but almost always, in each day, a small grace abounds. My friend who is waiting is surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, some with her in body and some in spirit, all loving her through this lonesome valley. She is one of my sisters from whom I was separated at birth (not really) and we found in each other a kindred spirit. In the midst of the choking reality of death and dying, the smell of grace is present.
Help me, Lord, to be present to the grace that is present in my life even when I am struggling to find my way through the wilderness. Let me not forget that this is the day you have made. I want to rejoice and be glad in it. Please?