n. The moon flower opens its white, trumpetlike flowers at eventide.
Eventide, or better known as dusk is my favorite time of day. As far back as I can remember, I always thought it magical. A vivid childhood memory of my dad burning leaves in a rusty trash barrel, all aflame, while I chased a rogue maple leaf floating in the air. Or as an adult, relaxing on the deck with dinner simmering on the stove, waiting for my husband to come home with the sound of cicadas winding down.
It’s twilight time.
A calming transition from day into night. I subconsciously stop toiling and decide what didn’t get done, can wait till tomorrow. Quietly and effortlessly, eventide envelops the day before it becomes night. Nothing sudden about eventide, but if you don’t watch for it, sadly, it will pass you by.
Don’t look for it on the clock, you won’t find it there. It changes with the seasons. Arriving early in the day during the winter months, it will patiently wait till children have played past their bedtime during the dog days of summer. It might be my imagination, but I think it has its own scent, something happens to the air that fills the senses. In the spring a breeze might blow away humidity, in the fall it will beckon a sweater. It’s eventide.
Presently, I capture eventide more on purpose. I use this dream-like time of day for a reason. Even though I’m secure in my relationship with the Lord, the world with its cares and responsibilities can bully me, crowding out my thoughts of him. I spend this interlude to tell him he’s not forgotten, but more importantly, to celebrate he has not forgotten me. I recall his delight in me. I am his Hephzibah, his church, his people. It’s never allocated for Bible study or devotions or even a quiet time. Eventide is for delighting only.
As the curtain begins its slow descent on the day, I secretly enter the land of “the married,” or Beulah. I savor the moment, and then the night ushers in and tells me it’s time to move on. But I’m left secure in my standing, knowing that another day will bring its magic. When the moon flower opens its white, trumpetlike flowers, at eventide.