The world groans and I am weary under the weight of it. We are in the “in between”: the place of uncertainty where distraction tries to take us from our better work.

I stand in my kitchen and look out the window, over the top of a new top-down-bottom-up blind, at a treed hilltop I’ve paid little attention to until now. I lift my eyes up at the start of a new day and am reminded where my help comes from.

I turn, and the vase of quiet roses and large, loud lilies on my dining table catches my attention. I think of my mom every time I catch a whiff of those lilies. They were too funereal for her taste. I find charm in them—especially paired, as they are, with stoic pink roses.

These things ground me.

Earlier, I lay awake long before daybreak in conversation with the Divine and come to a measure of understanding. Peace.

And the variegated green of the hills and the bright white of the lilies, the succulents on my windowsill, the tiny white petunias in my Aerogarden; these, and the Keurig coughing and the soy milk warming and and a tiny ceramic dog who has guarded my kitchen windowsill all my adult life and the silence of a household still sleeping. And peace.

I pad to the living room and stand at a window that curtains never cover and there see a sky that for all the world looks like ripples on a calm and quiet lake. And creation greets the day. And if the rocks and the hills can’t keep silent, how can I?

And I am grounded by the tangible and the imperceptible and in the holy hush of morning, there is only peace.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. Like you, I visit the holy hush of morning and find peace with the Bible and prayer.

    Just now the roofing company is depositing shingles on our rooftop. Peace will come when the hammering stops. Peace on the other side of this, but joy in the moment.

    1. Oh, how I feel for you, Marian. We had our roof redone a few years ago and I nearly lost my mind. Yes, peace will come. Joy in the moment, a great gift.

  2. Peace joined us last evening. Protests in the city we call home turned peaceful. It was a beautiful sight to see. A true sign of hope.

  3. Your writing is beautiful, Linda. I felt peaceful just reading your words. The photos only add to the loveliness. Thank you.

    1. Thank you for your kind words, Evelyn.

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