linger pondering for today...

I remember yesterday...

Sunday begins with worship, yes, as everyday. But Sundays are different. Cooperate worship brings the faithful (and some unfaithful) into the chapels, churches, cathedrals all over the world. Church bells ring, choirs voice songs of tradition and contemporary. Stringed instruments sing, trumpets praise, percussion beats with heart keeping time with shouts and whispers. I lift hands and tilt head upward, fall on repentant knees, and bow in honor of the One and Only, God. I listen to those standing close voice their praise, like me, not always in perfect key, but raised to the One Who hears all beauty in a sincere heart.

I keep my eyes closed...

The worship leader shouts directive, interrupting, "Now, sing!" I wonder, who is she shouting to? Does she see lips unmoving, hearts unstirred?

I open my own eyes.

Music continues...LIghts dim and lift in color keeping rhythm with the piano keys. Screens portray pictures that reach for my attention. And I watch for clues of music direction. I see all smiles, all joy. All sway to movement of (worship?) Distracted.

I close my eyes again...

I wonder about the Cross. The rough hewn wood, the thorn crown, the blood shed. The flesh torn, unrecognized. Death. And I remember the Resurrection, the raising by the power of the Holy Spirit. The same Spirit Who lives and moves freely in me (and in millions of others who have surrendered lives to our risen Christ). And I wonder... What does all of this really mean. Am I living the essence of Truth?

Musical notes ebb and flow, and they are beautiful. Yet I ponder still. Is the new "cross" opposed to authentic worship? Is the Cross, the rough-hewn splintered wood lifted with Jesus remembered in the new worship? I wonder, is this all show? Do I understand that the message of the Cross sometimes makes unpleasant demands of me? The Cross slays completely, all of me.

Abrupt end to song opens my eyes... The congregation sits comfortable.

Announcements come, brusque to my hearing. "I will be teaching a new Bible study..." I cringe. "My ministry..." I swallow hard. Words from one so human. And I remember my own words past, similar, but shaken through the years. The Cross demands more. The Cross Jesus suffered on, the Cross of Sacrifice for all, for me... The rough-hewn splintered wood does not run parallel, but intersects at the very heart of the One who loves deep and eternal. This intersection changes the course of humanity, if we allow it. It is abrupt. It is good.

The gathering of believers ends and with eyes wide open now, I exit the house and give thanks. Today, the message of the man is outweighed by the Message of the Son of Man. I linger, even in the busyness of the day to come, with this pondering. And slips of tears warm my face throughout the day, I laugh, I smile, I work, I eat, I hug, I dance. I love this Sunday, all. It is full of family. And it is full of Truth and Light.

weekend morning

Weekend morning slumber awakens to gentle waking stretches and tender husband kisses. The Lhasa stirs at my feet and morning growls. It's her sweet habit. I wrap my shoulders in the cozy robe and listen to the click of the Lhasa's feet as we make our way slow across the wood floor. Perfect morning cool embraces us as we step across the threshold. Finches skitter from the feeder and the Lhasa wonders at their hurry.

Such is the beginning of my weekend... and all is calm.

Praying your weekend is gentle in spirit and joyful in meaning.

LINGERing in the mess of stress

Sometimes, days are all a mess. Stress digs, scratches from the inside out. Every sense heightens, adrenaline rushes, and the head pounds a rhythm awkward and tempo undefined. Louder, stronger, heavy and deep. It rattles the core.

... and in the middle of the cacophony, I put out a flare. A prayer of "help!" A prayer of, "I know You're here, I just to hear You're here." it's not so much that I need to hear His voice. I need to hear myself speak to Him, to remind myself in the messiness, He's never gone anywhere. He is here. He is... Yes, I hear You, Lord.

... I AM.

... and I breathe steady. Circumstances unchanged. My hands still busy, mind engaged in the chaos of what is today, But I am all changed. A settling of fretful thoughts, the ragged peaks of anxiety ease.

I hide in the shadow of His wings, and I sing whispers of thanks.

Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.(Psalm 63:7)

all today is awe

I am in awe of Him today. In awe of His creation. In awe of His relentless love to the very individual of His creative hand. How does a God Who fashions all existence through the furthest galaxies (yet unknown to humanity) find it in Himself to know and love me intimately? I have no earthly idea... and most likely that is the very foundation of my lack of understanding - of God.

He is Spirit. He is Truth. He is Life. He is Salvation, Redeemer, Counselor, Friend, and Father.

And selah... I must pause and let those truths penetrate deep into my soul again and again.

I offer thanks, whispered.

And more now... He is Healer, Banner, Provider.

And selah...

He loves me with Eternal Love -one that never fails or changes. His Love is, as He is.

These are the thoughts I'm lingering with today. And words are hardly adequate to express them. And if they ask, Father?

And God said to Moses, I AM WHO I AM and WHAT I AM, and I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE; and He said, You shall say this to the Israelites; I AM has sent me to you! (Exodus 3:14 Amplified Bible)

today is all rest, restore, renew

Sometimes, a day is all a blur. And the movement leaves me unsteady on my feet. A sort of vertigo traps life's delicate balance in her web, and I sway. And I reel. And I fall (or do I leap?) into a pit of murk and mire. I wander there, slog there. Wonder how to make my way out of such a bleak, black place. I moan and cry and yes, I take handfuls of murk heavy and press them on my own head. The weight of it, oppressive and choking brings me to my knees (I should have been here in the very first place). Breath labors under the force of mire. Voice struggles to be heard. I strain against the battle (and it is ferocious).

I realize in the bleak, one catalyst spurred my fall/leap. And I ponder my reaction. How human of me. How dare I, really. I whisper, "I'm sorry" to the One who holds the Universe, including the pit of murk and mire. And murk begins to cake hard upon my head. Cracks and breaks in a million pieces and falls far below. Only then, I realize I'm cradled in the palm of His hand. He is lifting me out. Slowly. And there is purpose in the slow. I watch the walls of the pit as they pass by. Each cracked foothold represents the ascent, my ascent. My footprints, at the edge of the pit. And I look further away. Dragging footprints. I see the trap door, how it opened, beckoned. And pulled too.

I watch. And I learn. And I cry. Tears puddle in the hand of my Savior. He receives them, changes them. Like water from the sea, He turns them to clouds, pregnant with grace. Louder than a whisper now, I voice, "I'm sorry."

Tenderly, He sets me on solid ground, far from the slip of the edge of that pit. I watch as He moves earthen dirt, filling the pit of my stronghold. He touches my dusty face, gathering one last tear. And the rain begins! Drops gentle. I tilt my face heavenward. Open my voice in glorious thanks-FULL!

Soaked in warmth of His reign, cleansed from the mire and murk, I bow. He wraps me in garments white. And He says, "Rest now. (Mark 6:31) There will be other battles to fight.(1 Timothy 1:18-19) But I'll always be there. (Hebrews 13:5)"

And today is all rest... all restoration... all renew.

all todays are praise

Golden rays peek shy over over a tree-lined horizon and in the breaking through the quiet dawn, birds begin to sing. One lilting song joined by another in harmony. And the whole chorus in treetops crescendos as birds take to wing. Wings soar in precision. Climbing heavenward and swooping earthbound. The mass of many becomes the whole. And it is beauty... all.

... and I empty my mind of human aspirations, desires of the flesh (which I am) and offer "I'm sorry," where I walk closely to a pit of, "I want." I offer "thank you," a million times over. "Thank You" to Him, but most of all, "thank you," for Him. He fulfills. He is all gain. He is all desire. Human aspirations, desires of the flesh (which I am), disintegrate and crumble away. Yet sometimes, not without scars...

All today is praise.

And all todays are praise.

gratitude is hearing "you're welcome"

Gratitude changes perspective. It does. Yes, I know. But sometimes it's hard - life challenging. Like the discipline of physical exercise, gratitude needs determined, resolved practice.

So... today I'm grateful for: a car alarm beeping the arrival of our youngest for a visit... a text message relaying a showing on my oldest son's house... spinach stuffed sandwiches and few dark chocolate squares to satisfy the sweet craving... naps, which really help when the night before was long... a playful Lhasa exhausted after games of fetch and belly rubs who now sleeps curled up beside my thigh... a phone call from the delivery man who says I'll be there shortly with your TV table and an end table to dress up the "wild west" upstairs loft... watching my hubby REALLY relax for a day or two...

And that which had me perplexed, befuddled, fades to light. Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. (Psalm 139:12)

Most of all... I'm grateful to have someOne to express my gratitude toward. Without Him, I'd have no one to say, "you're welcome." And each time I express the sincerest thanks, "you're welcome" is the part that really makes me smile. And again, I give thanks.

What are you thankful for today?

the weekend unfolds

Lingering moments of weekend mornings move slow. Syrup puddles and drip over crusted waffles. Sadie yawns lazy and stretches, purring.


The Lhasa takes her place on the "bridge" upstairs watching the domain of her neighborhood. The "lion dog."



Later, we'll wander the forest path, and if the Lhasa is still, my lens may glimpse a squirrel or a bluebird, or cardinal. My mind quiet and my heart thank-full... my soul content and spirit fed.

And the weekend unfolds...

preparing to remember

The loss of someone close is never easy. And September 23 past was no exception. My love, my husband, lost his dad. And Heaven gained another soul. His home sits as a monument of sorts, empty and hollow after the memorials and visitations until... Yet again, we prepare to remember. Brothers will gather, sisters-in-law in support. We will all quiet enter through the door and wonder where to begin. Hidden spaces in abandoned closets beckon, kitchen cabinets call. This man, who called God his friend, his Savior, and King, sprinkled trinkets of faith for us grieving still. Stray tears will trickle and be quickly wiped away as we remember.

How will we determine what is keep-worthy, what to give, and what to let go? Each possession, a reminder of life lived well. We'll recall the memories, and remember more as we sift through books, letters, dishes, pots, pans, and all things that make a household live for a man. This CD, that movie, these photographs... that blanket, those sheets and towels. Shaving cream. Through all of this, we'll remember. We will share stories and laughter. I have 30 years of stories, my sisters-in-law have more. I am married to the youngest son of three.

We've never done this before, this chore of sorting through the years. He is the first of our parents to soar to Heaven. So we'll learn. And we'll lean on each other. We'll be careful to ask what has meaning, what each one would like to keep. And we'll watch for silent moments of heads weighted in hands to bring light touches to tense shoulders.

I'll watch my husband, my love, work through tools, storage bins and other garage utensils. Work needs done, yet raw emotion remains. Adrenaline for the moment will carry him through the motions, but I know it will come. He'll be quiet then, and I'll know. And I'll whisper a prayer for strength, and offer a tender hug. My sisters-in-law will do the same for their working men.

... and we'll remember. He is Home. He finished well.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38-39)

when the day is all calm and smiles

Sometimes a day calls for Linger, lighthearted and giggles. Sweet sister-friend hugs. Silly stories and secrets shared.










Breaking bread and hands curled warm around steaming cups. Touching hands, hearts. Today is such a day.











Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. (1 John 4:7)

a day for lifting

Prostate. Body pressing into Earth created by Your Voice ("and it was good")

The sheer weight of the whole overwhelms and sometimes I crumble beneath the burden. Faces move before the mindful eye and fragments of words utter from lips. Sentences too complex to speak. But a pouring of the soul nonetheless. "Salvation for this one, Lord... and for many You Love. Healing for her, Lord... and for so many I know." I could use the touch of healing balm too. "And exchange of peace for chaos in that home... and another. Provision for lack in a home of those I love... and so many others. Your Direction. Your Wisdom. Open eyes, Lord. Sharpen hearing. Remove self-destruction, mutilation of his and hers true authentic selves, images of You, created by You. May they pursue, as You run toward them with open arms, robe tucked. Welcoming them Home. Where embrace is compassion and comfort, and welcome-full." More needs swirl and I feel the substance of them on my heart, Lord. "This one wears anxiety as her garment, Lord. It pulls and scratches. She needs exchange... the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."

And I crawl forward, lift my head slight. Garment of praise...

And I rise to kneel, hands raised. open palms. Garment of praise...

And I stand, head facing sky, eyes fixed upward. Garment of praise...

The sheer weight of the whole falls from shoulders long bent with worry. Fear steps in line with faith and vanishes. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Arms stretch high and wide open. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. I twirl in the Truth of Him.

... and trust.

so this is Linger

Moment by moment, hour by hour, the day slips away. Life in humanity's time moves from the quiet of first light quick into dusk. And I am left pondering. Did I make "time" in the day to express sufficient gratitude and adoration to the One who moves not in our plane of time?



My soap-filmed hands wring the cloth, and the plate rinses clear under running water.

Longing to be on my knees, hands empty of chores, idle in rest, with ability to turn palms open in a consecrated - planned - time and place. I long for morning devotion, steaming mug, open journal, Word of God. Surely I'm Martha, and once again, Mary has chosen what is better (Luke 10:38-42) And it occurs to me, the Word - The Word. Mary listening, soaking in the very Word.

I pull towels from the dryer, hold warmth close before folding.

My pondering shifts from human wondering thought. I'm aware of the change. Subtle, the Spirit lifts my perception from the secular, and gently lays it at the feet of Sacred. Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. (Deuteronomy 11:18-19) The Word, alive and active, while I sit, walk, lie down, and rise.

Another basket of dirty clothing awaits my attention. And without hesitation, I load it into the washer. I'm smiling. Can't help the giddiness of the moment. I'm living THE moment, His moment transcending time.

So this is what it is to Linger...

when love is Trust

All hearts and flowers and chocolate. Pinks, reds, blush, and beautiful. Shy smiles, butterfly kisses, hearts aflutter. Passion, deep-knowing, ring-bearing, promise love.












The Fall has consequences. Something, not love, but masked in the name, tears and breaks. Trusting hearts rend... and retreat. And hide. The wounded child, broken and weeping, clutches the heart close. Bewildered.











The bride, stunned and shattered into a thousand pieces, cries a million tears for promise broken.








And they both ask, "What is love? Is it real?" And that place is dark, foreboding. The questions mystify and remain unanswered without Light. And the journey is valley. Mountaintop glimpses leave wounded hearts questioning the reality of peaks at all. They wander. They search. Paths threaten destruction and the core of hurt remains.


... yet there is Seed. He planted it there. It was, It is. Though the valley is dry, dew presents in Manna sweet. Wounded-ness, gazes upon the sheen. The vision of it pulls, tugs. "But can It be trusted?" child and bride plead for the answer. Eat. But they close rent hearts, clasp bleeding hands, and pass by. They walk long in the day and crawl in the dark.

... and the glistening never fails. Each day it is new, fresh. And the vision of it pulls, tugs. "Is It safe?" child and bride plea with One unseen. "Is It good?" Taste and see that I am good... And finally, the broken child reaches tentative. Unsure. She brushes a fingertip lightly against It. She smiles. "It's warm." And He smiles. She reaches again, and gently lifts dew from the parched ground. It glimmers in her hand.

The bride watches hesitant...

Small fingers hold tenderly the Manna, and slowly the child raises it to her lips. The fragrance sweet sharpens her long-deceived senses. She inhales long, drinks the aroma deep. And her tongue touches radiance. She slips her hand from the grip of the shattered bride. Hand healed, she reaches for the One whose Hand is scarred. And He holds fast and gentle.

The bride longs... Taste. Tarnished gold-wrapped fingered hand reaches. "It's warm." She smiles. And He smiles. She reaches and tenderly lifts Manna from parched ground. Oh, how It shines! And the fragrance sweet sharpens long-deceived senses. She inhales long. And she tastes... and eats. And reaches healed hand to the One Who is scarred.

"We can trust You?" And His embrace is all peace, all warm. The wounded child, restored, the shattered bride, whole dance on the mountaintops with He Who loves them eternal.

... and covenant.

I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness. (Jeremiah 31:3)

when love is Promise

Will you join me in pondering Promise through footsteps of the weekend? How I love sharing this journey with you, dear sister-friends...



I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. (Genesis 9:13)



Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth. (Genesis 9:16)



Like the appearance of a rainbow in the clouds on a rainy day, so was the radiance around him. This was the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the LORD. When I saw it, I fell facedown, and I heard the voice of one speaking. (Ezekiel 1:28)



God is not human, that he should lie, not a human being, that he should change his mind. Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill? (Number 23:19)



And this is what he promised us—eternal life. (1 John 2:25)

when love is tender

"I love you." She simply says.

And I grin, the sheepish sleepy grin. The expectant reply bubbles in my child chest and I am unable to contain the words longer. "I love you more!"

That look, out of the side of her eye. I see it coming... And again, the expected. "Oh no... I love YOU more." And she tousles my hair, wild on the feather pillow.

I giggle. I am loved. I know by not just the words, but by Mother's voice. And I reply the expected. "Oh no..." and child arms stretch wide. "I love you this much!" And quickly, I tuck my arms into the side of my body. But not fast enough. The tickle. And I laugh wildly...

and then my mother with arms wider than mine stretches them far. "I love you..." and stretching further still, "this much."

Meaningful exchange between mother and daughter before slumber. Yet still un-ended. I find expression in the only word I know to indicate clear the manifestation of my child heart sentiment. "I love you infinity!"

"I love you infinity too." And she seals it with a kiss. She walks softly to the door, turns. Briefly our eyes catch and she slips away. And I sleep, wrapped in tender comfort mother love.

And I sleep too... in another love not yet understood.

As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you (Isaiah 66:13)

life-Breath

The first drop. I feel it over my face. The thawing. Frozen landscape of me beginning to melt warmly. The shape, the form of me, created in His image opens with eyes new. I struggle to comprehend the meaning, but something, Someone, is caressing with breath. I inhale, and the warming moves deep.

The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gives me life. (Job 33:4)



It occurs to me then in warming stillness, winter's grip is unyielding. And I remember Narnia, captive to winter far too long. Frozen in dormancy. Winter's appearance suggests death. But there is a stirring... and through this supposed death, it stirs gentle, apparent only to the Creator's eye. My own eye, hindered of spiritual sight fails to see - feel - the movement of winter.

Until...

My beloved spoke and said to me, “Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.” (Song of Solomon 2:10-12)

Winter served her purpose. She reshaped the landscape of me. And the Breath warms as it thaws to reveal the new. I inhale the restoration, and finally exhale the fragrant beauty of His Creation. Yes!

I am my Beloved's and He is mine. (Song of Solomon 6:3)

And you, beautiful sister-friends... Can you feel the Breath warming, caressing? Winter unyielding cannot sustain its hold at the life-breath of God.

sometimes the heart is fragile

Sometimes the heart is fragile. Today. I grip trust, cling fast. And realize, all my strength in gripping fails. And the slipping begins. I struggle to hold fast. The strain is too much. And I surrender.

i let go... breath held.

Yet I do not fall. One Whose hands grip mighty hold fast, and I breathe blessed-breath again, hard and rapid.

i trust... and tears.

He tenderly lifts me. And I lean in, feel the cadence of One whose heartbeat never fails, sure and true. Circumstance yet unchanged. But the fragile heart beats healing one restored rhythm at a time. This is all I have. This trust, more than enough. Abundant to move me through the minutes and hours of this earthbound day. Enough to sustain. My breath slows, human heart restores.

i am grateful... And lean further in.

His Word, open, marked by tears on worn page, engraved within, wells, rises in Spirit. Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.

i listen... and faith.. and hope.

the very Word

(Isaiah 55:11)

Today is reflective of the Word. The Word Who always accomplishes His purpose. Just like rain and snow bring forth growth, life, so the Word brings forth yield to the garden of Earth's humanity.


In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. (John 1:1)

Today is reflective of Jesus, The very Word.


For no word from God will ever fail.
(Luke 1:37)

Today is reflective of the very Word of God will never fail.

her glimpse of Eternity

"I ran to the shore. Watching. The sight lingers with me still, to this day. I remember smiling and wanting. I watched."

I heard the thirst in her recall. She more than wanted that which she saw. More than wanted that which she experienced from afar. Him. She wanted Him. My grandmother's voice quivered on the end of the wire. I heard her tears, longed to hold her close. Though miles separated, our hearts in unison, beat together with His, Jesus.

"He loves you..." and my own tears escaped eyes burning with desire of more of Him. More to share, more to spill through this handset I held.

And she said. "I love Him."

Her encounter with God on the shore, I know now drew her child heart to her True Father. Our One True Father. And in the remembering, the Alzheimer"s remembering, the spontaneous Spirit cry, emerging Child heart, she desired Him still.

And one white-robed figure followed by another quietly emerged from the wet of quiet water. She watched the man tenderly carry each one into the depths and then help them arise. New, and smiling. And pure joy. She watched. She told me of her child tears and wonder then, and I heard the longing Child.

And so did He.

a weekend to recover

Today I breathe deep the aroma of steeping tea. Eager for the first soothing sip. Sick days are like this sometimes.

one momentary embrace

Sometimes I do something good and wonder if anyone sees. God sees. And He sends a bouquet of thanks. Beauty to hold, fragrance to delight. And then I remember to return it to Him, The Giver of all things Good.

I remember the scent of them, the fragile stems.
I remember the life held close to my heart.
I remember the reason it was mine
I remember Your pleasure in my sheer delight of ...

One momentary embrace



Breathe in the sweet fragrance, my Child

I remember my heart captivated by the precious gift I held close

Breathe deeply of my reward, Precious One

Mine to hold, You said, mine to enjoy. Yet...

Child?

And I lift the beauty to my Lord, a gift only mine for...

A moment is sufficient, more than enough, I cry to my Savior. Thank You...

You bring the increase,
You draw them in.
You offered Your Son
In place of their sin.

I bow at Your feet, Lord, amazed by Your grace. Amazed You trust...
One momentary embrace.

Bowing low. Humble. I lay beauty before Him...

But this fragrant collection, Yours God, not mine.
One momentary embrace
Yet eternal in time.

No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws them... John 6:44

mud puddles, delight, and healing

"Go! Jump! Play! That's what puddles are for..." Only moments before, dark sky weeping. Heavy tears cool terra firma and leaves gifts of pocketed water scattered. Some clean, glistening under opening sky. Others clouded, mud-laden. But never mind. bare feet touch tentative, and soon change begins. Transitions of uncertainty. Toes swish side to side and water art begins. Swirls and circles, waves and still. Arcs of light reflect multicolored rainbows and delight feasting eyes. Braver now, mud squishes and darkens exploring feet... ankles.

A barely audible echo... "Get out of that mud! Now!" Louder now. Abrupt. "Come in at once and change!" Hasty retreat. And I grieve. Jolted.

Time to cast aside shadows of what was, embrace now. Muddy children, one in diaper, question their mama's momentary stillness, fleeting now. I am a woman transformed, and wade, toes exposed. Becoming. He is changing me. He brings freedom to splash, dance, twirl.

Shadow past no longer captures my fragile heart, strong heart. I am changed. Six tiny eyes glint with mischief and I grin that knowing grin.

Muddy and spent... and joy-full we trek home. And I ponder the mud healing, and smile.

He replied, “The man they call Jesus made some mud and put it on my eyes. He told me to go to Siloam and wash. So I went and washed, and then I could see.” John 9:11

agapaō... everyday verb

Awakened. Warm under covers down. Good morning whispers through lips and voice coarse and dry from sleep. And the mind wanders. What will my day hold? My children come to mind. Do they early morning recognize You, Lord, too?


A gathering of like-hearted sisterfriends a few hours forth brings more wonder. Will anyone new enter our fold today? How can I welcome her? And then, It's awfully cold outside. What will I wear? The dog barks gentle, voice coarse and dry from her slumber. Good morning, sleepy puppy...

My thoughts, my expressions toward God, communing with God Emmanuel in the morning drift. And an ember of recognition rekindles the wandering, wondering mind. I will my thoughts to turn back to good morning whispers. A feeble, human attempt to reign in the busy mind really, and again, reluctant, I wander...

And then...

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ Matthew 22:37

Mind-full of Jesus Words, drifting thoughts submit to the Call. Wrapped in His presence, heart, soul, mind all captivated. Full focus. His Presence captures me. Love words lost in rapt attention. Woman mortal words fail, every utterance attempt falls flat, and I am undone. And still. Quieted.

And then His Will in Word...

Love your neighbor as yourself. Matthew 22:39

No matter the plans, no matter the gathering. No matter. Love... and then, Love.

Love, agapaō A subtle to-do. A verb I understand in His presence.

I bow, kneel, "Your will. With agapaō."

Fragile

I've witnessed fragile. I've touched it, and felt its existence barely on my face. I've held it, and I've let it go. Fragile is precarious beauty, and shatters sometimes. Weathered and broken until the Restorer gently lifts each piece with the meticulous hand and soothes jagged edges with balm. Never the same... repurposed by Divine design. Wholly broken. Holy broken. ... and beautiful