My dear one and I recently spent a bit of time at Lake Powell. He fished and swam, and I tried to stay in the shade and read.
We were both very happy.
I really love water. I love to drink it. I love to shower in it. I love a hot bathtub full of it with a frothy, foamy, scented bubble layer on top. I love it as it falls from the sky in the form of rain, and again when it falls in pretty little flakes of snow (until mid-January at which time I’m starting to long for the raindrops again).
I do not, however, like to swim. At all. Even a little.
So I didn’t.
Instead I enjoyed the absolutely gorgeous scenery. Happily we were in the off-season and able to see the glassy, undisturbed water as it mirrored the red mountains and blue skies. It was absolutely stunningly beautiful.
And I adored the water. The delicious icy cold cups full of water. The delightful bottles of ice water. And the precious little droplets of water that sprinkled lightly on our sleeping faces our last morning there.
And I enjoyed my sister-in-law’s famous cooking, and the excellent company, and the quiet reading time while all of the crazy people were swimming in the fishy water.
And certainly not least of all, I admired the blanket of stars against the inky night sky. There is nothing quite so remarkable as a night so dark that it’s almost impossible to find a tiny spot of sky without a pinpoint of starlight in it.
It’s pure bliss to sleep under such a sky – a breathtaking reminder of how little and insignificant we are below them, and at the same time how very blessed and beloved by their Creator.