BEAUTY AT MY FEET

I left the park after completing only three laps of our usual four. Joint pain and heart weariness sent my feet right to my car while my walk/talk buddies veered left for another round.

Driving home I lifted my eyes to the sky for hope. Clouds of witness? Nope. Nothing but the haze of a hot, humid day. No white clouds of promise. Nothing.

So I looked down. And there it was. Fluffy white hope lined the road with lace. Who knew there was beauty in the weeds, hope at my feet instead of overhead?

I guess God knew I would be looking in that direction.

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