… though I can’t imagine where


Early morning shadows sprinkle the lawn revealing splashes of Light

and baby fresh,




The robin hops through the landscape – stopping to listen – head cocked at the slightest rumble of a worm inching its way near.

The flower turns its head to welcome morning’s light.

And just beyond, a doe and her twins stroll past, looking for greener pastures I suppose…




… though I can’t imagine where




this day,

is a gift.

The birds know it. The flower and doe know it… and the worm that got away knows it too. Chirping in the distance, blossoming and grazing along the sun’s lit path, … inching through the warming earth. Happy to sing their morning song, they welcome the turning of this world toward its Maker.


New mercies, new hope, a new start.


What purpose do I have in this new day?

What Good works are planned for me to walk in since the beginning of time?

What voices need silencing to hear the One Voice that is needful to hear?


Be still and know that I am God.

Really know.


Quieting the noise of life

long enough to understand

 the certainty of the Life Giver.



Seasons change.

Life happens.

… I don’t know what tomorrow brings, or the day after that or next month or next year.

But this I know:

In this moment, I am loved by a King

I can face this day and all the craziness it may bring

with thankfulness.

Today, in Him, I have a haven.


Jesus loves me. This I know.


Linking up with

A Field of Wild Flowers (Small Wonder)

Tell His Story

Coffee for you Heart,

Thought-Provoking Thursdays

Five Minute Fridays

When the sun rose today…


When the sun rose today,

there was no fanfare


No holding of the breath

No dazzling colors

…No facefook photos

Nothing like the last few days when

jaws dropped and Hallelujahs rang

and spirits soared beyond their dreams




Today the clouds stayed at bay

Today the earth welcomed the sun without ringing anyone’s bells

Today was an endless sky of whitewashed Ho hum


Icy clear

… A boring yawn


Just another sunrise

in the endless Sea of Mundane


Just a small heavenly orb


spinning toward the Sun at 1040 miles per hour


racing toward Spring, clocking in at 67,062 mph

twirling around a nuclear explosion 93,000 miles away yet held firm


glued likes ants to a wall

suctioned by a quiet force pulling strong

deep within Earth’s belly


Ho hum


Just another beginning putting stars to sleep

and dressing warm the day in blue


Silly me

…I was hoping for something special


Joining with Thought-Provoking Thursdays, Tell His Story, and Five Minute Fridays, Lisha, Missional Women, and Still Saturdays

Big shout outs to hongkiat wallpapers and their photo artists: sanmonku, hameed, missstrublingstorm


The Tease


I can still feel it if I close my eyes and turn my heart just so

toward the light

that forever moment when I shed my Winter robe

and walked outside the door and was drenched in Gentle

I can still feel the dunking of satin

smoothing, changing, encircling each cell in another layer of silk

not hot and not even cool

just the slipping of every pore into a shimmering pool of liquid air

the Tease of eternity sidling up outside my balcony door

calling out like an old familiar friend, “Wear your tank top. Ditch the shoes. Bring a willing heart… let’s go explore! “

How mighty, this playful hint of Spring.


Joining with a host of writers: Five Minute Fridays, Thought-provoking Thursdays, Just Write, Playdates with God, Imperfect Prose, Tell His Story

if my words…

Writing with the Five minute Friday community… ready, set, go.


If my words could fly on the wind, if they could encompass the earth on a journey of freedom, if they could cover the heights of daring and the depths of tragedy… where would they travel? Would they beat the streets of Morocco, or scale the Cliffs of Dover? Would they follow the war torn and reveal the tears of the left behind?

How long would it take to tire of excitement and drama? to wish for routine and the humdrum of the everyday? How long before my words would find themselves back here to me again watching juncos scramble for birdseed on a wind swept rainy day? How much soaring would it take until they were at last willing to wait as I brush the last muffin crumbs from my mouth and chase down the dreams with my morning cup?

If my words could soar on the wings of the wind and travel the lengths of our vast expanse, would they someday be content to swirl around the yard on a cloudy windswept day… going nowhere… going everywhere.

simply free to share this quiet space with you?

Autumns’ Dance


The leaves burn red and blaze orange around me and for a moment I’m caught unaware – breathless. In the middle of all this beautiful change I feel every part of me smile and weep and yearn all at the same time.

What is it about Fall that causes my thoughts to tug at the edge of my heart?

I listen to the leaves rustle. I watch them wiggle and flutter dance and I wonder:

Is their’s a dance of excitement? Are they ready to spring free and soar on the wings of the wind? Or are they restless and clingy and trying desperately just to hold on with all their useless might?

Probably both.


Seasons change, I know that. And every season brings with it the same push and pull, hello and goodbye. I know that too. This isn’t my first rodeo, as they say.

But somehow, Autumn’s magnificence is greater — its letting go more severe. Autumn is beauty and tragedy. It’s all things full and all things empty. Autumn slaps you in the face with magnificence then demands in no easy terms, “ Now. Overnight. Let go.”

Fall forces all things to be settled. Finished. Harvested. Made ready for Life to be blanketed in the peace of  Winter’s sleep. To be not ready is a sad leaf clinging to a barren limb only to be pushed off later anyway… so why hold on?


So, yes, Fall tugs and tussles in me.

Some days I want to break free and tumble cross the universe. Blow this branch that I’ve clung to way too long and kick up my heels in a daring back flip that wows the crowd. I want to travel paths nudged solely by the passing whim that blows behind my steps. I want to get swept into the twirl and the swirl of it all…, unfurl my wings to adventures unknown.


Some days I just want to gently fall. Let go of waiting. Let go of trying. Just simply let go… and let the leaves fall where they may. And provide cover for the roots below.

Luke Redmond

Some days, the thought of falling makes me tremble and shutter and cling all the more. Below me speaks of death and dying, aging and withering. I scream, “NO!, I’m not ready to let loose my colors. I’m not ready to fall lifeless among the masses. I’m not ready to wait for the rains and snows and feet to trample me to a soggy, heavy mess? Where is the glory in that?!”

And Some days, I feel it all. Bright and bold. Quiet and ready. Excited to show Life’s brilliance in colors that shine true. Yet ready to gracefully move on.

So my heart waits and watches – caught up in the winds that swirl my way.

I grasp tightly.
I release willingly.

…Autumn’s dance is funny that way.


Calling All Ye Jolly Oxen!

Sometimes out of nowhere Life bubbles up so full and overflowing that it spills over into one deliciously messy puddle of delightful mud. An amazing mix of Deep and True and all of earth’s richness swirled together into a perfect pool where words splash brown – washed clean – unleashed in hard earned Joy that sparkles pure without them.


Indeed, a mucky glop of oozing goodness is this Life we get to love. Teasing us, drawing us, tugging us beyond ourselves. Bringing us to the edge of an exquisitely dirty choice:

Dive into the thick of ick? Or stay clean in sanitized, but muddy despair.

The truth is: Life is messy. It can get ugly and lonely, and desperately caked with all things grim.


And it’s easy to get lost in it alone.


But what if I make you family, and you make me yours?

What if we meet Life head on and stop pretending these mud-filled potholes are easy to walk alone?

What if that is all it takes  to uncover Hope hidden in its depths?




~  We might even discover magic!  ~


And in the thick of it all, when Good is hard to find, we’ll reach together

to the One whose hand is reaching back – muddied too – pulling us up, lifting us out…


Showing us, in his throne-to-manger way, how to love each other clean.

…Bubble bath clean!


So, let’s do it! Let’s jump in. Let’s fling off our shoes. Lift high our heads. Open wide our arms and find a hand to grab. Let’s welcome this Life in all its messy glory and dive right in with every brown splattered hope that’s left in our hearts.


Because sometimes there’s just no other way around.


I think it’s time, don’t you?


“Hey Ollie! Ollie! and all your oxen friends.” Together, we have all we need to live this crazy, hard, wonderful Life.

No more hiding! Come on in!

It’s free! Free! FREE!


So thankful for all these flickry, creatively in common photographic artists: (in order of appearance: w; nichameleon; jimee jackie tom and asha; Adam Cohn; Sangudo; fveronesi1; Ben Mcleod; Mark Dumont; my_southborough; peasap; Our Enchanted Garden; and last but not least Wes Cutshall

Morning’s Revelry


It’s icy blue outside – that shade of blue that paints itself cold between night and a dawning day.
And in the distance the roosters have begun their morning song.
Heralds of a new day, they crow in frantic urgency, “It’s coming! It’s coming! Wake up! Be ready!”

Every morning they cry.

A wandering frog joins in and the revelry strengthens, “It’s here! Look up! Be brave!…It’s time!” And quietly I’m reminded that just last week, in another land, I heard coyotes and Canada’s geese sing their version of this same song. “It’s a new day! It’s a new day! It’s a new day” … their cries beat strong.

Loud. Clear. Insistent.

         Funny, what can catch your heart’s ear when you listen to the stillness.

What do they see, these watchmen of the day? What music do they hear? What dreams lay swaddled in the arms of the warming horizon?
… Is there purpose beyond the scribbles on my planner?

At first the answer whispers, then beats loud, and pulses sure:

A call to forgive. A chance to love real. A day to live true.
A call to forgive. A chance to love real. A day to live true.

A call to forgive – the icy blue gives way. A chance to love real- the song echoes deep. A day to live true  – dreams stretch to Sun’s first beams.

Slowly in this moment between night and dawning day Life begins again.

Surely in this morning revelry there is

true and persistent


sunriseikewinskiPhoto: Flckr Creative Commons: ikewinski