Blog
The Hope of Dirt
The shovel is my brother, a good companion as we play together in the dirt… and I am bigger for hoping— as I dig, as I turn soil & a few worms upside down. I imagine the tiny roots climbing low, low, low, while tiny shoots climb high, high, high. Sunday’s sunny....
From Dry to Drenched
The sprinklers are reviving the lawn this morning. Living Water, come and revive my heart this morning. Dry, shriveled up, and colorless, I thirst. I am dehydrated of heart. I thirst to be present to this day, to be present to Your heart in this day. Each moment, choice invites action. I can...
Consider the birds…
At twilight riding down the street towards home, we noticed a mother and her daughter out walking, who were clearly concerned about an immature flicker sitting stunned in the middle of the road. Today, while mowing the grass, my husband came upon a dazed and confused young magpie, sitting...
Arose She
Arose she at magenta sunrise, just after twinkling bouquets faded. The summer damask rose shimmered in an old cut glass vase beside her bed. He always left one waiting there. She thought of that other day, fifty-two summers ago, when her now-snow-headed sweetheart knelt on one knee, and asked...
In Joy!
Call it a whim. Call it a wish. Call it Whitsunday. Today is Whitsunday, also known as Pentecost. It's a moment Jesus promised us in John 14. Traditionally, this is the Sunday that falls 50 days after Easter. It's a birthday celebration of sorts, marking the Holy Spirit's descent in Acts 2 as...
What We Didn’t Know
What we didn’t know was that our hearts would burn within us, just like their hearts burned when The Fire Spoke on the road. Emmaus-bound, so they thought, yet really, like us, they were bound to The Consuming One. The Word, Made Flesh, newly spoken, Remade by His Presence, their leaden...
Impatience, Stalled Out
The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth His handy-work. Psalm 19 Snow so soft so slight so slow I must be quite Intentional To notice its stealth Accumulation upon each tiny twig. Snow even slower now to accumulate, shows me again that slow doesn’t mean no movement. To...
