Now it is December. I think I should write something encouraging in these darkening days, but come up empty. I don’t want to wear a mask here, so I speak of the barrenness and trust I’m not alone in the wilderness.
I don’t have three steps to find happiness, five ideas to streamline this season, seven steps to celebrate the perfect holiday during a pandemic. I have none of that; I want none of that. I’m not offering a course, a community, pretty printables, or anything else.
I’m just here. Showing up. Finding fresh ways to write timeless truth even when the truth is that slogging though another day seems to take more effort than I can muster.
All I have is a mustard seed sized faith (No, I’ve seen mustard seeds. Mine is more carrot seed sized right now.). Just big enough to whisper one-word prayers.
Big enough to believe that what I don’t see is bigger than giants surrounding me. To trust in silence more than noise. To believe that carrot seed sized faith is enough.
To believe in my belovedness. And yours. Mostly that.
And so another day begins. Another month. Another season. I come here with little to offer but my carrot seed sized faith, hope that’s just a little bit bigger, and trust that It’s enough.