Today is the last Sunday in Ordinary Time. I’ve felt a tug toward Advent for weeks and yet there is wisdom in remaining in this season we call ordinary. This morning I read familiar words in the psalms: Be still and know. We quiet ourselves and rest in assurance. We remember seasons in which we
Night is heavy. Somehow my body knows it’s too early, in the same way it knows I’m not going to fall easily back to sleep. My mind meanders and, as much as I’d prefer not to think about that thing, it lingers there. A tear forms. I cover it in prayer and lift those others
I love my kitchen in the morning at this time of year. It’s dark when I pad from our bedroom to the kitchen to make the first cup of coffee. The only light comes from the AeroGarden that comes on automatically at around 4:30 am. It’s warmer in here than in the bedroom where the
It’s just after four when I stand at the microwave watching the red numbers count down from seventy-seven. The Keurig coughs and spurts out elixir behind me. Oh God, you have brought me in safety to this new day. That thing in my body that’s been causing me trouble still burns, that concern in my
I’m drawn out to the deck by splendour in the morning sky. I lean against the railing, hands cupped around a warm cup of coffee, and worship as I look to the east. My whispered prayers mingle with the sounds of day beginning in the valley below. In the distance, from the valley, comes the
The pre-dawn sky looks something like this. Not quite, because the miracle never looks the same more than once. I watch as it grows more spectacular with every passing second. Glory, I say in the quiet of my mind. Gerry gets up to make coffee and pauses as he passes the east facing open door in
I surface from slumber in prayer and a still, small whisper tells me something I’m prone to forget. You’re carrying a burden that isn’t yours to carry. I know, but . . . I do that so often. I try to justify my worries as if my particular circumstance is beyond the scope of the