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Recent Posts . . .
innocence and heaven and more to come
Four eleven-year-old girls running around the house. Hiding and shrieking. Sneaking up on each other and laughing. First half-day of school. This is innocence still.I can’t help but mourn its slipping away.
When We Pray, Bright and Beautiful One
There are jewels dangling above the grass. Golden, shimmering in light. I see them when I look up, my hands on the ground, nails filled with wet brown dirt.I am pulling weeds from tufts of grass. Dandelions are about to sprout, and I pull up the plants by their roots. My daughter knows to not blow any white dandelion puff, as wild and beautiful as it is, anywhere near our front or back yard. I'm kind of crazy about this.And now I'm bent down, hands in dirt, pulling up unwanted plants from our yard. Tiny clover and tall rye grass and those sneaky dandelion plants that make me mutinous and determined to pull out each and every one. Sunlight blankets my bare neck. And I look up and see green leaves hanging, sparkly magic dangling, love notes against blue sky. These leaves are wanted; I've decided they are beautiful, desired. While I pull up these other weeds, unwanted and clever, from my poor little grass patch of yard.Father, what do You deem beautiful, worthy, holy? How do we pray to You? How do we recognize the beauty You see? Read More . . .
Look up, my darling, look up.
When I hear Him, this space I’m in, at this plain wooden table, this window with the cobwebs at the corner of the metal screen, this soft rumble of washing machine, this smell of wet dog near my feet, I study the room, looking for clues for what is different.
All is different? No, all is the same.