Happiness, like the weather, can be a fickle femme. And trying to figure out the source of my happiness has been an interesting study.
I've always loved collecting things. As a child, my mother quickly learned to check the pockets of my pants prior to washing them, lest she end up with a washer full of rocks. If it wasn't rocks, it was fossils, or colored glass, or seashells. The beautiful little things that captured my fancy would end up in a jar on a shelf above my bed. I'd take them down, and pour them in a tray to look at them, over and over again.
The best time to find rocks was after a rain. It was easy to pass up even the prettiest stones when the dirt was dry. They all look the same, equal in color, nothing new, nothing special. They lay there, undisturbed, as they have for ages prior. But when the rain came, the dust was washed away, and the beautiful stones were there, as obvious to their discoverer as if they had just been placed in that spot.
The problem is - you never know when it's gonna rain in Texas.
Grace is like that, isn't it. An unwarranted assistance. A reprieve. And usually unexpected. That's what I need - a rain to wash the dust away. I need some grace, like rain.
BTW - I was hunting diamonds in Arkansas last fall in that picture. Didn't find a damn one, but I had fun doing it.