Hope in every morning.


God is still in control, in case your’re wondering. The morning bird’s hopeful song ushers in the day, not questioning whether to sing. In joyful exultation, he sings because God made him to sing. He finds reason enough in the birth of the new day.

God put the song there so who am I to doubt? The evening bird assures me as well, with his solitary song at dusk. This small fact astounds me. One bird and one only to bring in the sunrise, and one only to close out the day.

The Master Creator unfurls His sunrise and sunset like a banner across the sky. Genesis repeats itself, it is finished and it is very good. Who am I to say God isn’t in control?

Who am I to say there is no hope?

Lori A. Heyd

And here is a little nugget of truth I found in Proverbs today, I don’t remember ever reading it before:

The believer replied, “Every promise of God proves true;
he protects everyone who runs to him for help.
So don’t second-guess him;
he might take you to task and show up your lies.”
And then he prayed, “God, I’m asking for two things
before I die; don’t refuse me—
Banish lies from my lips
and liars from my presence.
Give me enough food to live on,
neither too much nor too little.
If I’m too full, I might get independent,
saying, ‘God? Who needs him?’
If I’m poor, I might steal
and dishonor the name of my God.” Proverbs 30:5-9

The Afterglow


One day into the New Year and my mind races ahead plunging full speed into it, that is, my mind and not much else. I am already borrowing trouble and worrying about events that have yet to happen, but I am getting better about that. Now when I sense myself doing that, I pull away and find that quiet place in my soul that’s been hollowed out by His Spirit and I try to rest in Him until my mental wheels slow and eventually stop. Most of the time, I have a peace about the coming year.

I was reading something yesterday that said none of us are made to stay the same. God made us and everything else  in this universe to change, to transition into something else. New seasons, new growth, parts of us die and are reborn. Change is good. It keeps us alive, on our toes and yet I am a creature of habit and I don’t like being out of my comfort zone. I have found security in my routine, my job, my little corner of the world. But true security is found in Christ and nothing else. As my old Pastor used to say, it’s Jesus plus nothing.

So I take a deep and thankful breath as I look back and see where God has taken us and brought us. And I look even further back and I know I have no reason to fear anything. He has always been there and He always will. That part will never change.


Sometimes you just need to take a step forward in the fog, and soon things will begin to take shape. You’ll see the splashes of color and miracles along the way if you just keep walking.

It’s the last day of  four 12 hour shifts and I feel a little like how Tolkien so aptly described it when Bilbo Baggins said: “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” Yep. That’s the feeling. I am looking forward to being huddled in the shop tomorrow in the early morning darkness folded around me.  I need my battery charged and that’s the best way I know to do it, that and being in nature.

This is a new stage for Elaine, and I want to help her through it. Before, every spare minute was filled to overflowing when her Mom was still alive, especially at the last stages. Now she’s finding big pockets of time and feeling like something is missing. When you have been a caretaker so long it’s hard to know what to do when it’s over. No one ever prepares you for that.

I am ready to close out the week, and start a New Year.

I will end with one of my favorite poems of all time……..

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening 

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Easy to Believe


It’s easy to believe in Heaven on mornings like this one……

when the air is sweet and the stars are still winking but

just about to depart from sight.

I walk on tasting the day, knowing how sweet and precious it is.

How fleeting each moment and how important it is to think of time how God does.

Like each day is as a thousand years and how a thousand years a day.

Weightless and free and yet bound to this earth.

I walk on and I flush out a dove, startled from her place.

In wonder, I pray in my place of silence

I wonder at how I can cry the tears of the bitter waters of Marah

and in the next breath have streams of living waters to

flush out my sorrow and replace it with joy.

I marvel at my God.

Whatever happens here:

I have at the very most 35 years this side of Heaven

and then a permanent vacation where peaceful waters flow

and there is no crying only endless joy

a ribbon of eternity stretching out further than my eye can see.

Yes, I grab my cup of coffee and settle in my chair.

I can see it from here.

See Me

Enough will never be enough.....

Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Romans 12:10

See me not as a stranger but as a potential gift to be opened.

Allow me to show you what beauty I hold inside, keeping in mind that maybe you might have to dig just blow the surface to find them.

Remember………..your best friend was once a stranger like me.

If you already know me and love me, don’t take me for granted.

Don’t skim over my words when I am talking like you can’t wait to interject your own. My words have value and when I share them it’s because I want to give you something of value, for it’s my love that’s behind them.

Listen to me…….Because someday you will only hear an echo where they once were.

There will be a time when you would sell all you have to see my face, hear my voice.

Imagine hearing from me again after I am in Heaven.

Pretend it’s that time the next time you call, or see my face and it’s like the most perfect summer day you ever spent.

Cherish me.

Here me now when I am right here beside you.

My words are some of the best advice you may ever get.

Don’t be too busy dismissing them because after all “it’s just me.”

See me as that new friend you are trying so hard to impress.

Remember all the years I have been here and all the rocky roads my feet have been on right beside you.

Remember me.

Don’t wait for the echo.

Image from Google




With a blaze of red against the white, she was startled out of her reverie with this visitor who stood stock still.

With head cocked he seemed to be listening to voices only he could hear, tuning into an older primal frequency we all used to know.

His breath materialized in the frosty air.

She waited, he waited. Each trying to determine if the other was friend or foe.

She was glad for the company, wished he would stay.

In his eyes, there was a reflection of Eden as if he remembered when we were all friends.

But he shook himself as if to shake off the impossibility of that thought, snow flying from his bright fur.

He wished, she wished.

They both wished for a time when the world was young.

For Eden.

He turned and trod down the path.

She released her breath.

She would remember this moment as a small miracle.

I was inspired to write this after seeing the movie, “Wild” photo courtesy of creative commons.

When it’s easier to label someone than help


Hey you, man on the side of the freeway with a sign.

What are you?

A fake, a phoney?

Are you playing us for a fool or are you really homeless?

Really poor?

Really a disabled veteran?

I want you to know, you haunt me.

Driving by later at night, I see you are no longer at your usual post by the freeway exit and neither is your friend.

The one whose turn it is to hold the sign while you wait in the shade.

I wonder, where do you sleep?

Where are you right this minute?

And is it my job to judge whether you are really what you say you are?

You shame me.

You teach me how far I still have to go in my faith journey.

I see you everywhere, and everywhere I wonder.

What…..who…..how you are and how you ended up there.

I just want you to know……

You haunt me.

And I am thinking that Jesus probably haunted a few people too.

Matthew 25:35-40

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what’s coming to you in this kingdom. It’s been ready for you since the world’s foundation. And here’s why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.’

“Then those ‘sheep’ are going to say, ‘Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?’ Then the King will say, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.’ Matthew 25:35-40

photo credit: creative commons via flickr Ed Yourdon

Meeting God in-between


 The God who made the world and all things in it, since He is Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in temples made with hands; nor is He served by human hands, as though He needed anything, since He Himself gives to all people life and breath and all things; and He made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined their appointed times and the boundaries of their habitation, that they would seek God, if perhaps they might grope for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us; Acts 17:24-27

From little morning chore to little morning chore. That’s where I find Him. In the flat times too, when the air is still and the earth holds her breath, He comes to breathe life through His words, which I pick up first thing; Looking for hope in between its pages, I find it.

Poets might die, but the words always live on.

I wait here, in the Holy moment before life rushes around me on the bench by the garden as the shade pulls away slowly to reveal the scorch that is sure to come. I watch as the lone bee settles on the tomato blossom……doing what God made him to do.

The doves hover, waiting for the fountain and I marvel at the white stripes patterned on their wings as they fly off. Once again, I think that He has truly made it all good, as bad as this old world might seem as it groans on its axis along with us.

A new TV series called “Mistresses” would have been considered porn not long ago. And Dr. Phil is turning “Springer” with mediums and numerologists leading tearful, grieving people astray.

When someone tells you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter, should not a people inquire of their God? Why consult the dead on behalf of the living? Isaiah 8:19

It’s not wrong for them to want hope.

Meanwhile poets die, but the words always live on.

Hope is here.

He never left.

Meanwhile, the heat will not be deterred.

The desert settles in for the long haul, and so do God and I. Inside and outside of time,

we wait together.

RIP: Maya Angelou


The Color of Time


The clock finally died. The one I got from the Spiegel catalog some 20 years ago. I thought it was so beautiful when I bought it and now, even though it’s stuck on 7:32 forever I can’t seem to get rid of it. The time piece probably costs more than it’s worth, so for now it is leaning against the wall in my bedroom.

What color is time anyway? The time that is speeding so wildly past us all. Of course it has no color for real. I guess if vapor or water has a color that would be it. But if I had to give it a color at all, it would be like looking through a stained glass window. Each color comes alive with a memory.

Every time I see purple I think of her……she owns this color now, the one to whom these sweet hands belong. I hate to think of the day she will no longer be so excited to play for hours in sand.

And sometime in the future, years from now, I will see sand and time will be that color.


Her color………….

Treasures of value can’t be measured, they can only be held in our hearts and yet God holds each one in eternity, He knows their worth.

I pour the rich brown of the coffee in my cup and hear the voices of dear ones at my Mom’s kitchen table over the years……different faces, different friends, and the joys and sorrows attached to each cup, each memory.

Yes, time can be the color of coffee too.

The Bible says there is a time for everything under Heaven. And the Byrd’s did a song that said those very words…..Turn! Turn! Turn!

     A time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
 a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

And God holds it all……not one moment is lost to Him. And the world drags time along with it, spinning rapidly beyond my control. I click moments furiously trying to stop it all. To catch every color.

To catch time.


As time continues to write its name in the dust, I pause it for just a moment. Here, can you see it on the shelf? I purposefully left it there for you to find. I guess when it comes down to it, that’s what blogging is:

Each one of us, writing our name in the dust of time.

What color is time for you?

Even as we are one


I remember a time.

before all the crap, all the baggage, all the pain that gets between us all……..

when we just held hands and felt nothing but God.

With lifted hands and eyes full of joy we sang choruses, I remember.

How we loved Him.

And oh how happy we were because we ran smack dab into Heaven and,

for just a moment, we knew what You meant

when You said that You wanted us to be one as You and Your Father were.

Why can’t we do it again?

Why can’t we do it now?

Let’s do it today.

My prayer that we could open our eyes and see, really see each other.

Not just mutter adlib an answer as we walk away

Forgive me when I give your precious words of diamonds and gold

no more than a cursory glance.

Let me not admire them inattentively then cast them aside

like just another pretty stone.

Let me hold your face in my hands and look into your soul

And really see where you have been.

Let me always see Jesus in your eyes.


Let us grab hands and travel this path together.

Both of us together……

All of us together. Side by side.

Toward Heaven.

I am praying not only for these disciples but also for all who will ever believe in me through their message. I pray that they will all be one, just as you and I are one—as you are in me, Father, and I am in you. And may they be in us so that the world will believe you sent me. “I have given them the glory you gave me, so they may be one as we are one. I am in them and you are in me. May they experience such perfect unity that the world will know that you sent me and that you love them as much as you love me.  John 17: 20-22

I believe that with everything going on in this world, that we need church unity more than ever before.

Let us hold each other close.

photo credit: creative commons some rights reserved: damselfly58

Riptide of love


God caught me by surprise me this morning.

That’s how the Holy Spirit works, like the wind, you never know when He might come (it’s part of the mystery)

His Spirit washed over me like a wave. It was  unexpected and I almost couldn’t contain it.

Because how can you contain a God that even stones will cry out to?

How can I be anything less than an instrument of His praise from my first breath to my last?

Sometimes He gives me a glimpse…..just one is all it takes and I fall in love. All over again. He knows when I need assuring.

Just the fact that He does reveal Himself to me stuns me with silence but the next moment I want to pull my car over and jump up and down on the side of the road.

Our God is a shockandawe kind of God, powerful enough to calm the sea and taunt death.

He breaths fire from his nostrils and carries lambs on His shoulders and I can scarcely imagine the depths of His love and mercy.  

He calms the sea and walks through walls like some kind of Superhero God.

He tames lions and turns people into pillars of salt, stops them in their tracks.

Yet He grips me in His gentle Hand like King Kong might hold a butterfly.

He allows me to feel the glow of  His Holy fire from a distance because He knows too close would burn me like the sun.

I am blown away by the fact that He loves me and the timing He uses to let me know.

I was riding a wave, caught in the riptide of His love, I was surfing on a wave of fire.

Consuming fire and gentle whisper hung on a cross.

Satan thought He won that day, He was doing a victory dance over that one.

But he made a huge mistake by underestimating the power of love,

left out of the loop of God’s plan by his own failure to imagine what God might do to save us.  

He didn’t think God would go through with it.

But He did.

Oh happy day.

Painting by Duane Scott