Just about perfect timing for that day we had another cool spell. The nights were getting into the 60's and the days 90's, but another noticeable difference was even more wind and dust. The wind and dust picked up again (dust never goes away, but this is intense) and we had allergies and surfaces to constantly dust again.
Here is a picture of my feet from walking around my house. May I mention that I CLEAN my house. But as soon as it is clean one can look down the hall and see another layer of dust covering the floor, thus the bottoms of my feet at the end of the day. We keep all food and drinks covered because of the large amounts of dust. Every container has layers of dust on the top of it. Before shaking the pepper into your food, you better dust it off :)
So we mostly have negative associations with dust. But at church dust is sometimes used in a positive way - people use it as an instrument under their shoes as they dance up to give an offering . Dust and playing in the sand is one of our children’s favorite parts of being here.
Still, at this point it is hard to think about what good can come from dust. But God promises differently many times in his Word. I ran across this poem which reminds us of this hope as we continue through Lent:
Blessing the Dust
All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners
or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—
Did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?
This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.
This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.
This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.
So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are
but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made,
and the stars that blaze
in our bones,
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.
–Jan Richardson
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