In considering what to write about in this space today, I went back in time to June 2009 to see what was happening in my life and see what has changed since then (a lot!). In June 2009, I picked up a copy of Wm. Paul Young’s, The Shack on a dear friend’s recommendation. I
I’m awake in the middle of the night and my mind wants to race, as minds tend to do in those dark sleep-hungry hours. Once I wrestled, stealing glances at my bedside clock and worrying about how tired I would be at work in the morning. We don’t keep a clock in the bedroom anymore,
It turns windy as we retire for the evening, and the curtains in the bedroom dance next to the open door and window. Maya, our Yorkie, is not pleased. She has never liked wind. She claims her space at the top corner of our bed, next to where I lay my head. It is farthest
Another early morning and I’m out in the yard in my pajamas, camera in hand, trying to capture an image of the skies declaring the glory of God. This barefoot sixty-year-old woman, with sleep-tousled hair who is dodging spray from the sprinklers and lifting her Canon in praise, is having church out there. Don’t let
The sky this morning is gray, and rain fell during the night. It’s still raining, I suspect, judging by the sweet scent coming in through the open door in our bedroom. It looks much like most of last month looked out there, but it is decidedly different. This particular gray morning comes on the heels
It turns out to be a long and busy day. My mind is busy, and I struggle to wind down at the end of it. I think about opportunities and the changing of seasons. I have more questions than answers—that is most often the case. I believe in the wonder of magical things, and I
They’re tearing up a piece of the main street in the city where I live. We go that way—me, for the first time since it all started—and navigate a detour that includes a mind-messing route going the wrong way on a one way street. My shifted perspective as we drive the wrong-but-temporarily-right way sparks my imagination.