Rain pours hard, unannounced, and ends as quickly as it came. Sun rays do not delay to break back through the water debut, highlighting steam rising from the pavement, the heavy hush of humidity. Treetops catch gentle drops of lingering precipitation, and I thank the Lord for those trees – for the wonder and stories and seasons they hold (though, no doubt, I sigh at the amount of mosquitoes now and the amount of fallen leaves that will pile in a few short months). Watermelon waits to be sliced, to drip down fingers all sticky and sweet, flavoring the smiles and laughter of these ones I love so much that it hurts. An heirloom ladybug magnets a “Summer Bucket List” to the fridge so as not to miss what these slower days could hold, and all that’s on the agenda today is to enjoy … knowing this season (every season) is a gift – not to grip with white knuckles but to receive with open hands. And then to keep my hands open, to offer each moment of gift back to the Giver. If I receive all that is given to me in a posture of humility, won’t I be all the more wondrously grateful? The sun will linger, dusk will bring a mosquito mass, and fireflies will softly flash at the sliding door glass, inviting me to slow down and see, to take a deep breath and receive …