Cherrios.

It has been cold. And pale. And rather dreary.  

I have felt cold. And pale. And rather dreary.

Christmas decorations are packed away in grey tubs and returned to the garage and our Christmas tree was carted off, either by the trash truck or by the wind that has been sweeping down the plains (I can't be sure of which).

Things feel bare. And the monotony of the wash, rinse, repeat of motherhood feels wearing. 

Psalm 8 describes the majesty of the Lord filling the earth.

The volume of the Pacific rolling in towards the beach in Pescadero. The height of the Redwoods and the scent of Muir Woods. The staggering magnitude of Half Dome and the crisp, cold air surrounding each of the falls in Yosemite.

The majesty of the Lord has certainly filled California the Whole earth.

It fills California.

And also Oklahoma.

And also the space within our four walls.

The majesty of the Lord is here. When the dust moats are floating, and my house is tidy, and I am cuddling on the couch with my long-lashed boys.

The majesty of the Lord is here. When cherrios are stuck to the kitchen floor, and a tiny undie-clad bum is sitting in time out, and I'm wiping a tear stained brother's face.

The majesty of the Lord fills the Whole earth.

I've tasted it at the base of Vernal Falls.  

Help me to taste it in a bowl of cherrios. 

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