Stopping to Smell the Roses

pit stop

I'm breathless. Last night, after spending a glorious day at the beach with a group of wonderful gal pals, I came home to a surprise birthday party. And indeed, it was a surprise since my birthday was December 29th!

My home was filled with cherished friends and family, decorations, food, fun and joy. I felt like Cinderella at her very own ball. I am humbled by the precious gift of friendships that the Lord has blessed me with.

A special shout out to my Groovy girlfriends and the Gang of 5 for their part in keeping the big secret while participating in the planning. It seems that the ball started rolling out a couple of months ago when my husband decided to throw a party for me. Honey, I love you. You are the best!

road trip -- a fitting topic after my Cinderella evening

As long as I have lived in California, I haven't got over the thrill of seeing freshly grown grass on the hillsides in the middle of winter. I spent my formative years in places where winter meant brown grass if you could even see it from under an ever-present blanket of snow. I've been living in the sunshine state for over half my life, and I'm still conditioned to think of green grass as "summer" and brown as "winter."

Yet in California, a reverse miracle takes place. The brown grasses that cover the hillsides in the water-starved, sun-drenched summer give way to tender and lush green in the wet winter. It's a lovely site. Weird but lovely.

It always makes me stop and think about how much do I really see when looking at things on a daily basis. We all do it. We pass by a familiar street corner a thousand times and don't notice it anymore. We walk past our neighbor's rose bush but no longer take in the visual and olfactory messages being sent to our senses. We know the sun has been temporarily blocked by clouds but do we look up and see how magnificent the after-rainstorm cumulus clouds really are?
Yes, the green grasses of winter always make me stop, breathe in the air and soak in the ordinary around me ~ the ordinary that is transformed into the extra-ordinary.