Saturday, November 19, 2011


Photo Credit

I never really know what to say, pretty much ever. It's a gift I have:


Later, I think of things I could've said, imagine your clever response. But standing right there in the moment, my lips fail me. Every time. 

Lately I've needed to drop by here and do some housekeeping; I wanted to, desperately, because even if words failed me, writing never did. And yet this time. . .      it did. 

(They say faith moves mountains - but who moves mountains to paper?)

Writing here - writing worth the energy it takes to type - comes from somewhere deep. And lately that place has been echoing empty. In the midst of the resignation and the packing and the move and all the tongue-tied bitter(sweet?)ness of returning home, I couldn't think of one single thing to say, or write, or even think. 

Maybe in the unpacking, when I finally get to the bottom of that last worn box, I'll stumble into that place again. 

Until then, I'll just marvel at what remains firm in the moving waters of life:

For our merciful Sovereign - Who knew all this long before we did; for my Preacher, sure and steady in the storm's dead center; and for my kidlets, who remind me that home is wherever we're together.

And at the end of the day, if all we are is together - 
it's grace,
and we give thanks.

Letting it sink in,

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