Finding Home

We close on our new house June 12th!

I am Beck far from home, I always have been and in a sense will be until I die. When I was little, in a family as transient as gypsies, home eluded me. In fifteen years of marriage we've lived in four states and spent a total of three years living in other people's homes. From the moment I was born I went questing, casting about for home.

The truth was I never found home, perhaps because I wasn't ready. If you don't know where your heart is meant to dwell it will never find it's resting place. But even though, in a sense I'm still far from home, my heart has finally found a place to call home.

My home is God's heart and my home is his people. Throughout the early years of my life I learned the first truth, in the last few years I've learned the second. Whether living in someone's basement or far from my native south, I learned to live and move and have my being in God my father (Acts 17:28).

After disappointment, that I've both endured and caused, I've come to realize that if my heart dwells in God and your heart dwells in God, we dwell together. I knew that truth doctrinally but experientially it has alluded me. As much as I've cared deeply for the churches we've served I've rarely felt at home. Perhaps I wasn't ready, perhaps I was still sojourning. Maybe I needed to feel far from home to prize home when I found it.

I don't feel far from home anymore.

In all our wandering Chris and I never bought, or even considered buying, a house. There were many, many reasons for that. To a great extent they were financial, the risk didn't out weigh the benefit. But now, even though there are still risks, we're ready to face them.

I'm tired of wandering. I need a home. But more than that, something is different in me, in this church. I believe God is doing something new. Buying a house says something. It says I choose to stay, it says I choose you. For the long haul. And that's what I believe a church family should do, choose Jesus, and one another, for the long haul. Like marriage.

So this house is our engagement ring. We're marrying our future to Christ's bride in this time and this place, for better or worse. For a wandering gypsy like me that kind of commitment thrills and terrifies me. But I trust it's God's doing and I embrace it.

Oddly enough our arrival at the church was less formal than anywhere else we've been and in some ways I think that's good. No need for fanfare, there's work to be done.

In every church we've served the value of our experience has been enormous and we've loved deeply. We are still in relationship with many of our friends. But I've never felt like the whole church was family, I've always wondered if I was wanted. Perhaps I guarded my heart too closely, or perhaps those communities didn't know how to adopt. But I know this is what I've always wanted. To belong.

"You have made us for yourself, Oh Lord, and are hearts are restless until they rest in you." St. Augustine

Do you have a place to belong? We are communal creatures, a life of solitude isn't an option. If you're still wandering ask God to establish you in community, it's his desire for his children to be at home together.

Calling all Mothers

On this Mother's Day as I sat in church with my two precious children, surrounded by my amazing church family, a whisper of sorrow wound it's way around my heart. The blue eyed boy my heart loves wasn't with me.

Being a mother has been my greatest challenge and an amazing gift. The love that comes from caring for someone small and vulnerable has expanded my ability to love. I'm finding the capacity to care for someone that needs protecting doesn't stop with my own children. My mother's heart rises up in indignation when I hear of a child taken advantage of or neglected.

Perhaps that's what God intended, for mother's to extend that nurture and influence as a spiritual reality to others. The little boy who lies in a crib in Serbia isn't my responsibility. I didn't give birth to him. I didn't abandon him when his body succumbed to disease. But I've seen him, and perhaps a heart that can see and love is responsible to be a mother, even to a child that's not hers. 

Perhaps I've beat this drum a lot lately, a call of love for the broken and needy. But I think I've just gotten started and the beat will only grow louder. The world needs mothers (and father's too for that matter but today is Mother's Day so I'll stay on topic).

The world needs mothers to ease a hurting heart, to be an advocate in weakness, to notice when something's wrong and take the time to make it right. The world needs mothers to stretch out their hands in a soothing touch, smile in pride at faltering steps, forgive, cheer, clean, mend, and do it again tomorrow. 

So even from a distance I'll learn to be a mother to a world I didn't birth but am learning to see. Will you join me moms? Strap on your super cape and reach into your mother's tool box and embrace the world. The world is our responsibility not because we gave birth to it but because we've been given our motherhood by the One who taught us to love in the first place and he's inviting us to turn our superpowers of love on those who aren't our own.

This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us. 1 John 4:9-12

Cultivating the Hearts of the Next Generation

Spring unfolds her verdant banner early in southern Alabama, inviting us to linger outside. As my little daughter and I enjoyed the backyard I noticed that a large pot, brought from my grandmother's house after she died last year, was coming to life. The hydrangea inside is pushing out fresh green leaves and on one of the vines, winding it's way to rest on the shoulder of an angel, also from her yard, was a dainty purple blossom. I didn't realize last year when I brought the faded green pot home what kind of vine was planted along with the hydrangea, but I was so tickled to discover it was the beautiful purple flowering one.

Today in the backyard my grandmother's flowers, and her grandchild, are blooming.

Grandma's green thumb was more of a green hand. She nurtured and cared for her beloved flowers and yard. Seeing her plants, now alive in my yard, alongside of her vivacious granddaughter, reminded me of our responsibility to tend and pass down truth. How are we investing in the next generation?

Life goes on. We tend and nurture, plant and plan, and then we're gone. What do we leave? It matters. Is it lasting, does it effect generations for God's glory, is what we leave behind of eternal consequence? One day the the little purple flower will fade and die but the little girl with bouncing curls, spinning and singing, I trust, will never truly die.

"He decreed statutes for Jacob and established the law in Israel, which he commanded our ancestors to teach their children, so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn would tell their children. Then they would put their trust in God and would not forget his deeds but would keep his commands." Psalm 78:5-7

How we tend little hearts matters. They will not grow straight and strong on their own. Healthy hearts require nurturing. How are you investing in the future generation?

Maggie of Scotland

I'm thankful for imagination and for family heritage, these two thing prompted this short story as part of a writing competition. My mother's family settled in South Carolina 250 years ago. I like to imagine what motivated them to leave their wild Scottish homeland for a new world. Who were they, how did they live, what did they feel, I've always wanted to know...

Once upon a time. Isn't that how all good stories begin? There was a girl with cascading auburn curls, emerald eyes, and a smile that flashed wild. Maggie had insighted the hearts of many a lad. But it had always been Alan who held her fancy.

Today she whistled as she made her way home; adventure sparkling in her heart. Maggie's bare feet had memorized the winding dirt path like a familiar friend from childhood. Her dark blue skirts swished around her thin ankles as she skipped up the grassy brae to the white cottage she shared with her little sister, brothers and Da'. After dinner she was meeting Alan by the stream beyond the cow pasture to say goodbye.

Banging into the snug cottage where crates stood ready she called out, "Da', where are ye?" No answer. He must be driving the cows home. Angus McKay was purchasing the lot this evening to add to his great herd. The cottage stood silent with a mantel of stillness draped over it's solid walls. Matthew, John, and Alice were most likely off saying goodbye to their playmates. 

Leaving Scottland was hard on the younger ones. They didn't understand the difficulties Da' faced nor the promise of hope in the new world. For many of her countrymen the promise of a better life in the American colonies stood in stark contrast to the economic hardship at home. The sorrow of leaving Scotland, where she and decades of Bankheads had lived in the same whitewashed cottage, was tempered by the fact that many of her towns people and relatives would be seeking their fortune in the colonies as well. Her father's cousins James and Matthew had promised to settle with Da'. Many farmer's leases from Lord Doneagal expired this summer and tenants would no longer be able to afford the increasing rent. It was a matter of survival. 

Maggie started a fire in the low hearth to cook her family's supper one last time. She had ladled piping hot stew into tin bowls and placed a large, round crusty bread in the center of the table by the time her siblings came tumbling through the door. A smile spread across her fair face at the racket of her younger brother's good natured argument and Alice's sing-song mocking of the two. 

"All right ye daft bunch, settle down! Why are ye carrying on so?"

"The foolish boys are fighting over who will get the top birth on the boat. I told them they will likely sleep on the floor," piped Alice.

"Ye will sleep where there's room for ye, that's what. Mind Da' boys and see yer no trouble to him." Maggie ruffled fifteen year old Matthew's ruddy head. He was growing as tall as their father but he still needed reminding of his responsibilities. The new world would hold a great deal of promise for a growing boy like Matthew. 

Maggie ate her stew listening to her sibling's chatter. Excitedly they talked about the ocean passage and what life would be like in their new home. Father and his two cousins had secured land grants in the Carolina's from the crown. Their Da' had been successful with his herd, expanding the barns and cottage. He had laid enough by to purchase passage to America. It was a good thing too because despite his success with the cows, and respect in the village, it still wouldn't be enough to pay the increased rent and taxes on their land.

As soon as dinner was done and the young ones were set to their chores Maggie went tripping down the brae to see Alan. She called out a soft cooey as she shimmied over the low rock wall and then picked her way across the stepping stones of the small brook. Alan emerge from behind the stand of alder. 

A lump rose in her throat as his tawny hair caught the late gleam of sunshine above his broad shoulders. Running to catch his hand she took off with Alan through the gloaming. One last chase through the heather of her homeland. As they laughed and ran past the hills of green, Maggie let the beauty sink into her soul, becoming a part of her very pulse. Flinging themselves breathless on the springy turf, the mist of the evening rolling in, she drank in Scotland as the evening wrapped them in a shroud of soft sorrow. 

Turning her head she looked into his eyes, blue as the sea that would take her from him. "I'll be coming for ye, Maggie lass. America is a braw land and good. Father says that in a year we'll have the passage. I'll come to ye then." 

Her hand reached out to touch his strong jaw, aching at the parting, thrilling in his nearness. How she hoped he would come. Her heart would cling to that hope and believe, it was the only way she could say goodbye. It was late when she crept to the cottage. She watched Alan melt away into the darkness, his hand stretched out in a last farewell. 

After two day's travel James, Maggie, Matthew, John and Alice Bankhead set foot on The Edinburgh bound for Cape Fear, North Carolina. As the ship pulled away from the quay and headed out to the open sea Maggie turned away from the green coastline of Scotland and set her face to America. Salty tears stung her eyes. The scent of adventure rose around her, bracing her heart.

The voyage passed slowly; adventure wore thin. After a few weeks at sea they were nearing America and a desperate fear had wound around Maggie's heart. The silent reality of meeting a new world with a new life growing inside of her cast a shadow of worry across her brow. Her cousin Bess had noticed the thin lines growing around Maggie's mouth and taut shoulders. 

Asking her about it on deck one evening Bess pressed her to confide. The truth slipped out in a gush of relief and a sob, "Bess, what shall I do? How can I face Da' and this new world with my shame."

"Oh, dear, hush yer fretting. Yer Da' loves ye and maybe this new world is the place for a fresh beginning. It's not the first time a sorrowful parting has born regret and it'll not be the last. Take the sorrow as a gift to remember yer Alan. A wee bairn is always welcome no matter the grief that has born it here."

"Thank ye Bess." A comforted Maggie set her face to a new life and adventure once more. Before she new it they were landing in America. Several weeks later they were settling in South Carolina, rolling and green, not unlike the home they had left behind. A crude cabin was quickly constructed and earth turned for planting. Home was taking shape. By spring little James Alan Bankead, born from a dream of love into a land of freedom, was in Maggie's arms. Bess had been right, there was always room in a family.

Many, many years later on a spring evening, after a continent had been tamed, a mother with emerald eyes tucks another Maggie into her bed. "Hush", she whispers as she smooths auburn curls back from her toddlers brow. And in the whoosh of her pulse and the beat of her heart the untamed whisper of Scotland echoes strong and brave. 

Has your family heritage ever inspired you? Tell us how!

Mountain Retreat

What goes well with pictures from a lovely mountain retreat? The poetry of Emily Dickinson of course! My family's time at my parents mountain cabin was refreshing and sweet. I hope you find a moment of quiet repose in these images and words.

XXI

Emily Dickenson

The grass so little has to do, -

A sphere of simple green,

With only butterflies to brood,

And bees to entertain

And stir all day to pretty tunes

The breezes fetch along,

And hold the sunshine in its lap

And bow to everything;

Crowning the hill

A glimpse of home

Quiet beckons

Proudly posing blue beauty

Little fingers collecting summer time treasures

Blackberries not yet black guarded by a sentinel daisy

Walks with a friend are always the best

Summer donned her lacy gown

A creative display of grasses

Goodbye!

  And thread the dews all night, like pearls,

And make itself so fine, -

A duchess were too common

For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass

In odors so divine,

As lowly spices gone to sleep,

 Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,

And dream the days away, -

The grass so little has to do,

I wish I were the hay!

A Garden of Love

For many years ministry has taken me far away from my Georgia roots, our last ministry was in the wilderness of Wyoming. In the last twelve years I've missed my grandfather and two cousin's funerals not to mention a handful of weddings. The distance has dulled relationships and each gathering missed was itself a grief.

But this week was different. In this season of life God has graciously placed me closer to family. I traveled from the Alabama coast and wound my way through Georgia pines to say goodbye. My last grandparent is gone. Grand, columned houses and orange country roads flashed past on my way home.

It was a comfort, a joy, to celebrate my grandma's life, her legacy, and her home-going, with my family. After the beautiful funeral and memorial service, conversations and hugs, my parents, sister, and I stopped by Grandma's empty house one last time.

Grandma was a gardener with a green hand. Every inch of her back yard was filled with life, at one time it had been a show place, but in recent years it had begun to reflect the life of it's aging owner. As we entered the metal gate and walked around the tiered yard I felt like I was entering the secret garden. Roses still bloomed, hydrangeas showed off their color, lilies had faithfully made their appearance but all amidst a tangle. 

I think families are a bit like the garden. Sometimes messy, in need of pruning, maybe some thorns and work to be done. But always with flowers blooming and a few quiet places of rest, beauty and potential. The question is will we enter in and participate. Engaging takes courage.

God is purposeful. He doesn't make mistakes when he crafts a family. We can embrace the gift of family, with it's challenges and joys, overcoming fear and pride for the sake of love. I'm learning that participating with God is always more productive than resisting him, that's true in our family relationships as well. What blooms when we do is a thing of beauty.

I'm thankful for the variety of relationships I've been blessed with, they shape and refine me and bring my life meaning. Is there a relationship you resist because of fear or hurt, maybe difference or time separate you. How can we engage and allow those relationships to be transformed by grace, blessing both people?

I brought a plant and angel home from my grandma's garden as a reminder that beauty lies locked inside the heart of every relationship.

Goodbye

I hear the whisper of eternity. A gentle whoosh between rooms, like a breeze of life, fluttering the gauzy curtain of matter between worlds. My grandma has put down her worn out tent and moved. I marvel that a woman I've known my whole existence, small and accented, has stepped into her true life. She is seeing with her own eyes the sweet Saving Face I long to see most of all. And while Heaven isn't her permanent home, anymore than a hotel is mine, she's one step closer. Resting in the dwelling place of God that will one day be joined with a perfectly restored, curse free world; it's more than I can imagine. (Revelation 21)

Heaven is dear to me because the One I love best is there, but the longer I live the more precious it becomes for it's containing others I love. One of my best friends lost her father-in-law this week as well. A dear man and good. Sorrow stalks us like a predator in this life. The only comfort I find for times like this is in a verse I've always felt a little odd. The shortest in the bible, so they say, but maybe one of the most tender. "Jesus wept," John 11:35. Why did he? There may be a number of reason but I think certainly one has to do with why he came to earth. He entered in to our experience. He became one of us. He has taken away the judgement associated with the curse of death but not the sorrow, the consequence, the daily struggle, or it's burden. Instead of removing death and grief and pain, he enters in.

Maria Eugenia Reyes Morton, a Latin beauty.

Grandma and my Dad.

I wish. Sad words aren't they. I wish I had known my Grandma better; all of my family for that matter. I wish she had known me better. I wish I had told her I loved her one more time. I wish I could have asked her more about her childhood. I wish she was a part of more of my memories.

I look forward to knowing my Grandma better in eternity. I want to be known and know. It's something the pull of this world left undone. Distance and difference. Relationships take work. In the New World I think relationships will be our primary work, relationship with God and each other, and the curse of this fallen world won't get in the way.

Me and Grandma, October 2010, the last time I saw her.

Grandma with Max and Maggie.

I think that's what I love most about the hope of eternity with Jesus. Everything is redeemed. The earth becomes what it was intended to be, our perfect home. God dwells with man once more, Heaven and a New Earth joining. My past is redeemed and I become who I was meant to be all along. And relationships are what we've always longed they could be; satisfying, deep, selfless. I want to know my Grandmother under those circumstances. In this life I was fighting the rip tide of distance, often living states apart. And sometimes in a big family it's hard to find your place, often we come of age and find our confidence too late.

Even so Grandma marked me. I think she opened my eyes to the beauty and accessibility of the world. Originally from Puerto Rico, she was a world traveler, her stories of distant places opened up a desire to see the treasures of this world with my own eyes. My personality is shaped by inherited genes, I got the chatty ones! As well as by choices, I'm thankful for my grandparent's faith in Jesus. And she gave me one of my greatest gifts in life, my Dad. Death is a humbling and sobering reminder that we are all linked, influencing and shaping generations. Even though her reality and mine have changed, I'm here and she's there, in some ways it remains the same. She and I are unified through the Holy Spirit. Alive in Christ, our inheritance is in him, love isn't really ever broken it's just transferred to a different location.


"He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children." Revelation 21:5-7 


Thankful for what's been and hopeful for what's to come!

A journey of thanks and faith

I'm taking long sips of summer sun from Alabama days. The air is heavy and perfumed with gardenia and honeysuckle. Delicious breezes whisper to us from over the water, carrying the hint of salt water and the dream of dolphins playing in the bay. Unfortunately allergies are in full bloom along with the mimosa and magnolia trees. We're eating dark purple cherry tomatoes, squash, green beans, jalapeno peppers, and all kinds of herbs from the garden. To top it all off the sparkle of a now four year old gives the southern sun a run for it's money!

Sun peaking through the fingers of a pecan grove.

Chris, Max and Maggie enjoying an evening stroll down an Alabama back road.

Garden spider zipping up his web in hopes of dinner.

The fruits of labor.

Zenias from a friend showing off their color.

I love the color of these sweet tomatoes.

Sunshine girl!

My heart is pregnant with hope this week. I see God drawing people to himself with mercy, people who have not understood his truth before. And my foot is poised at a doorway of faith for Serbia. It is time to ask the government permission to visit the institutions there. I'm praying for doors to swing wide and to be given favor. Join me in prayerful trust won't you?

The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy. Psalm 126:3

I would love to hear from you. What blessings from our Father's hand are you soaking up this week? What are you trusting him for?

A Mother's Day Prayer

A journey into the heart of motherhood is not what I had anticipated years ago. But it's the journey of every woman whether she expects it or not. We women all need nurture and to be nurturers in some way. Society, families, and individuals are better when we confidently embrace our ability to care instead of shy away from a potentially vulnerable role.

I am reminded once again that I have been unspeakably blessed by the mothers who have poured into my life and the lives of those I love. It's a beautiful thing to be caught up in the generational dance of motherhood and find yourself linked arm in arm with past, present, future. To the mothers in my life, biological and emotional, I thank you. 

As I give thanks to you, and to the One who has so richly favored my life, I cannot forget that with high privilege comes high expectation. As I take from you, and raise the next mother in the generational chain, I know that my love has the capacity to stretch farther than my household's walls in an attempt to honor a gift of love I did not deserve. 

My Mother's Day prayer is one of thanksgiving and of longing. As one blessed I seek to bless and pray tonight that God would not forget the motherless and fatherless in our midst.

"Sing to God, sing in praise of his name, extol him who rides on the clouds; rejoice before him—his name is the Lord. A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land." Psalm 68:4-6

As usual my heart turns to the weak and vulnerable locked away from sight in Serbia. I long to gather skinny bodies in my arms and smooth tired brows. I ask and trust that God will remember to be a father, a defender, a provider to these helpless ones. Whether a lonely person within our reach or an orphan far away let's use our influence as nurturers to ease the pain of a human heart. 

To all of you who love faithfully Happy Mother's Day!

Five Minute Friday: Tender

I love Gypsy Mama Fridays and the chance to write free flowing words for Five Minutes. If you haven't tried it give it a shot! You can enjoy Lisa-Jo's words and the words of others here. Today's prompt: Tender.

Go:
A gruff and growly old mustache. But he didn't fool me. Under the shell made tough by the world and fear, there beat a teddy bear heart. At once protecting and loving.

The nurture of my heart and mind took shape at his tender hands. Worlds of understanding and possibility opened in warm wide vistas.

Life isn't always gentle and kind but true love tenders hope and a kindredness that cheers. Even in the lean years, in the difficult climbs, broad shoulders bent to look blue eyed love into mine.

We are one, cut from the same cloth, fighting the same dragons, following the same melody. Tender bond stretching across miles.

Me and Daddy on my wedding day.

Daddy meeting my daughter Maggie.

Stop.

The prompt for today's writing, tender, immediately brought my Daddy to mind. That probably isn't the first word people would use to describe him. Intelligent, strong, hard worker, creative, determined, maybe even gruff might come to mind first. But I'm his daughter and I've seen his heart in ways others haven't. Bridges have been mended and grace has filled in the cracks of our lives. The tender moments are what my heart holds on to. And all those moments have paved the way of trust in my heavenly Father.

Where have you found tenderness in your life? Perhaps it came from someone unexpected. I'd love to hear your story!

A Basket Full of Thanks {Mondays}

Today is my Max's 8th birthday. Every mother wonders, "how can it be?" as her children reach new milestones. I ask myself that question today.

Our first meeting is still so vivid, the power of the experience burned into my mind and heart. I remember holding my son and asking him, "where did you come from?" One minute he was invisible, the next he was filling my life to the brim. A 7lb. person whose needs shaped our every waking moment, and most of our sleeping ones.

Today he's a far cry from that tiny flailing newborn. Actually he's still flailing, his arms and legs are just longer and manage to bump more things in their path. And he's still vocal, he had a lot to say back then, he just wasn't able to use words to say it. My desire is that God would give him a powerful message to share and fill his many words with grace.

I'm very proud of my boy. He's an amazing mix of his father and me, and yet his own person all at once. Chris and I are opposites, to see us combined into one little body is humorous, we shake our bemused heads everyday! My desire as a mommy is to partner with God to shape his character and help him discover God's purposes for his life. What a fearful and wonderful task!

Today I'm counting the gifts of parenting my sweet boy:

241. I'm thankful for the way being a mother challenges me to live self-sacrificing, holding me accountable.

242. What a joy to see him grow in his understanding of truth, responding to the Holy Spirit.
243.My heart fills to bursting as I watch him learn to serve and love his sister.

244. I love his creative mind that embraces discovery and learning.
245. Seeing how he fits into our family, taking his place, reminds me of the larger family of God and how we were all made to fit.

246. He delights his father and me with his affection and warmth, always ready for a snuggle or what he calls "a long hug." I love how he loves people.
247. It excites me to imagine what God has in mind for him and to see how the pieces will fit together as he grows and matures.

248. His smile, that makes his eyes dance and face light up, warms my heart.
249. Reading great books together, I love sharing some of my old favorites with him.

250. I'm thankful that parenting Max gives me intimate glimpses into our loving Father's great heart.

I pray this promise over both of my children and trust God, who is faithful, to fulfill it. Genesis 17:7 "And I will establish my covenant between me and you and your offspring after you through their generations for an everlasting covenant to be God to you and to your offspring after you."

What promises do you hold onto for the ones you love?

{Linking up with Ann Voskamp at A Holy Experience}

In The Quiet

For some quirky reason my computer decided to connect to the internet tonight so I thought I'd hop on and take advantage. My plan for now is still a low profile. God is gripping my heart and I'm not willing to shake free of the quiet.

I've enjoyed the benefits of less online time and more time connecting with God's heart and my family. I'm amazed to say it, but I'm falling in love with my kids all over again. Not that I ever stopped loving them, I just find that my love is growing and developing knew facets of beauty. Perhaps it's due to praying for them more regularly.

I'm also spending more time on my novel, and I'm falling in love with it as well. How odd that I'm learning from the characters. Characters that I supposedly made up! But I am.

And what a treat, recently, to enjoy spending time here. As Max said, the waves remind us that God is mighty!

More regular and trustworthy than the waves is God's faithfulness, beating it's rhythm upon our hearts, and I'm so thankful!

I would love to known, in the quiet what does God whisper to your heart? What is he teaching you?

Some thoughts...

I hope your Christmas celebration has been restful and satisfying. Our time during this holiday break has been sweetly spent as a family. I've enjoyed my children and the quiet times we've shared. We've appreciated having Chris home, eating yummy food, snuggling down during rainy weather. 


Now in the last couple of days as Chris has gone back to work, and we're telling the Christmas season goodbye, the weather has changed. The sun has come out and warmed us, waking us from our quiet cocoon. Yesterday was spent in the sand and water of the bay, what a treat. Today was spent at the park and library and later making fresh squeezed lemonade, from local lemons.


In this new season of our lives I'm constantly turning my ear to catch traces of the Father's voice leading. I find the need to reflect and quiet my heart, heal from old wounds, catch a fresh vision. Interestingly it seems that quiet time is being enforced by my Parent, to some degree. 


I struggle to let loose the voice I was carving out in blog land, connections I've enjoyed making, lessons learned. It's antithetical to me to be less visible and consistent as I work on completing my book and will need a platform from which to present it. And I will sorely miss the encouragement I find through your blogs chronicling your journey towards godliness, shared with candor and grace.


However, I don't have much choice. My own computer is showing it's age and is unable to connect to the internet anymore. My access will be limited to the occasional use of my husband's computer. So I'm not sure how frequently I will be posting or visiting your sites. Hopefully this situation is temporary, but it's hard to tell.


In the meantime, let me say, may "The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace," in this New Year! (Numbers 6:24-26)

Snug down day

I'm spending this drip droppy day with my small girl. We splashed in puddles in the cool morning air. Fall is beginning to assert his authority over summer's fading strength.

Now in the charm of a cozy house, the sweet smell of carrot cake baking, we're snugged down together watching Mary Poppins. Delicious!

I hope whatever your weather may be that your day is filled with sweet delight and love. Don't forget tomorrow's Sister to Sister blog hop. The topic for this week; Hope.