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It never leaves, this ache. I can press it down, punch at it like bread dough, pat it into a nice ball, and cover it up. But still, sometimes it spills. I think of Elizabeth, barren in her old age. Heart and arms heavy with the ache of it. As time passed, maybe she stopped praying. Accepted the thought . . . → Read More: The Ache of Answered Prayer When I washed, I saw. ~John 9:11 (Message) There’s a hush this morning. Branches bow under the weight of wet white grace. I stand robe-wrapped and slippered on the porch and drink His whispers. Come to me all who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Giant flakes fall, and boughs droop to kiss the top of . . . → Read More: Grit-Crusted and Glory-Strengthened I haven’t sat outside for a while, but this morning looks so inviting. I can’t bring myself to put on the pink sweatshirt my mom gave me to wear on my outings. So I go as I am–a sight to behold to behold the sights. The white robe’s in the dryer, so I slip on a sweatshirt over the . . . → Read More: For When You’re Exhausted
I don’t remember now when I first started to pay attention. When I first picked up the baby camera and started to see through a new lens. Took those first steps. When I started to look for details or to see in a new light. My husband, ever patient, waits as I trail behind on a trail, zooming . . . → Read More: The Gift of Paying Attention
I blame trust. I leaned into it. Silly goose. It burned. Cut deep. Shattered dreams. “Close the doors,” I prayed. They opened wide. If I had not trusted, things might be different. Or not. Maybe worse. There’s no way to know. No way to know the rest of the story until the end. Were the open doors a way of escape? How will He put the pieces back . . . → Read More: Five Minute Friday: I Blame Trust He’s had this green mohair cardigan for years. Charlene gave it to him. The same Charlene who scrawled across two pages in his high school yearbook. I tease him and call her “If-Our-Love-Is-True-Charlene.” And he laughs and crosses his arms and scratches them like he does when he gets embarrassed. But he still wears it in spite of the holes . . . → Read More: Of Green Mohair and Breakdowns
I flip through the pages of Time Magazine until she breezes into the waiting room to invite me back. “How are you today?” Her eyes sparkle, and the corners crinkle. I flash a big smile. “Fine. Just fine!” I climb up into the chair, and she pins the bib around my neck. She flips on the reflector light, . . . → Read More: Five Minute Friday: The Reality of Grief
Be still and know I AM. Know I AM and be still. Reposting this from the archives because my words have been stilled this week. ********** But now thoughts travel. I remember silence across miles. A bench seat center. Knee to . . . → Read More: Love and Stillness
I planned to skip today. I mean, celebrating my birthday with the one who gave me birth being gone now two days shy of only two months just seemed–well, too hard. I even stripped my birthdate off my Facebook profile so it could pass quietly. I tried to share my feelings with one family member–perhaps not very . . . → Read More: Because it’s My Birthday: Horseshoe Lake (revisited)
The rain’s shredded the white and left only scraps. The birds flock to the feeder, smother it. They dance on bare limbs. It’s easier to see them in winter. I suspect a lot of things become more clear in winter. I’ve got work to do, but I’d rather be here. In front of the window. Seeing.
. . . → Read More: Waiting with Courage |
  Be a deep see diver. Deep See Diving     
    
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