Sunday, January 10, 2021
Saturday, January 2, 2021
Wednesday, December 9, 2020
Thursday, October 1, 2020
I circle the parking lot to pick up the little gal.
She questions why I am in a different car. Instead of rattling through what is the 3rd car having its dozenth issue in the last 3 weeks, I tell her, “I won’t bore you with the details.”
“I have nothing but time.”
I envied these five words.
What if time was a gift to be given instead of something borrowed or made or stolen.
As we pause as a planet, our sparse schedules should reveal not what has been taken but what has been given.
The gift of importance as what remains lends itself to what we cannot live without.
The gift of relationships as we have moved from touch to touch screens.
The gift of god who remains faithful in fear and frailty.
The creation of time, the measurement of days mark the life lived well or wasted.
The giving of time is a transaction of love both from the receiver and the creator.
It is a work of holy to let time stand and embrace what he has given us.
Monday, September 7, 2020
I read a story written by Ruth Graham. The story goes that as the fish tale was told, the fisherman, extending his arms to portray his catch, bumped into the waitress carrying his cup of tea.
Tuesday, September 1, 2020
Life is messy. So much so it feels as if the messy splashes up and over us, covering and almost consuming.
But we do not have to consume. We do not even have to give it breath. We do not have to believe this is all there is, because there is so much more. We have Someone who lives inside. Lighting up and organizing the places in our hearts. His Spirit dwells here. It is He that allows us to bring a word of truth and an arm full of encouragement to this less than perfect place.
Beauty: it is in the hand of the Beholder. When we hold Him, we behold what He fashions. Faith out of fear. Trust out of turmoil. Wonder out of worry.
We get to do this. Because we are His and He is ours.
Tuesday, August 25, 2020
Our milkweeds are right smack dab next to hundreds of zinnias. Dozens of butterflies coming to life, landing on lovely after stillness and struggle.
Weary finding rest.
That is the Father, bidding breath in the battle. Beauty in the hard. He doesn’t end suffering to cause us to see Him; He allows it so we do not miss Him.