small at the start. the snow is falling and i watch from the house. it barely dusts the yellow slide in the yard. i doubt it’s ability to accumulate. but my doubt has little to do with what is or isn’t true. both my doubt and my faith can seem irrelevant to god. he does
i’m in detroit and i’m driving down forest avenue. in the corner of the road where the street meets the curb there are thousands of tiny yellow leaves. they are falling and they are gathered. god makes a mess every autumn. i walk with my youngest child up through the rainy morning to her school
i’m tired and drinking coffee to open my eyes. i’m snapping at children just out of their beds. these two small words are far from my heart. thank you. the cooler morning in green shade is right out my back door. i go and i sit and i read these words from oswald ~ “jesus
it’s officially the middle of july. every summer i wonder if i’ll forget what it was like to pull on boots or wrap a scarf around my face. every summer i do. it can take a while. i’ve lost track of the days. children wake up late sun-kissed from the fun of the day before.
the sky is grey and still we drive towards the shore. “i think it’s starting to rain. are you guys sure you want to go?” “mom. it’s the beach.” he tells me deadpan. “we are wearing bathing suits. they can get wet.” four year old logic explains it to me. we swim and it sprinkles.
for all the days of wandering, i’m struggling just to keep up with little things – dishes, packing for the next trip out of town, writing… today i’m letting go of getting it all together and trying not to let it worry me. there are wildflowers growing right now that never will be looked upon,
when the rain starts and the sheer curtain blows away from the open window, i don’t mind. i see a picture of my frantic self running from open window to open window shutting out the storm. the thunder rumbles and the birds quiet down. it had been a perfect day. i sat in the shade
we packed up and went to greenfield village for the first time of the season. it was exactly the same. there is a freedom in faithfulness. to keep things, with a determined hand, to keep things the same. the ever-growing grass and the demands of the age are kept at bay and instead the same
some mornings it’s so hard to decide what to wear. i open dresser drawers and see that i could put on love today. the love of god as the one who would cover my shortcomings. not only that, but in wearing him, he makes me shine. when i am covered by the great love and
i was driving on the peninsula. vineyards and cherry orchards were dormant in the mild winter. i wondered what the wine will taste like next year. rising onto the hills, the bay was blue and visible on both sides. i’m driving in detroit in the morning. the street had traffic and there were people waiting