Second Windsong

From California to Washington, D.C. From mother to grandmother rejoicing. From silent worshipper to singing sister.  From friendless, lonely to friends, bonded sisters, content.  From wife and partner to full-time caregiver.  From full-time caregiver to rejoicing wife of a healed husband.  From saying I am a child of God to declaring myself as DAUGHTER OF THE KING! From fighting fear to standing firm.  From deadly diagnosis to healing and life.  From one moment to eternity. 

  Drenched. Dripping. Cool. Absorbed straight into my soul. Hands cupped.  Catching. Overflowing. Refreshed.  Complete joy.  Creation pales.  Wonders of the world ⸺ pale. People. Glisten with Holy Love.  Drip with Your favor.  Beam with Your joy.  God's reflection in the mirror.  Eyes open wide. Why Me? Living water pours out again. Answers my questions. Cancels my fears. Shields my eyes.  Covered in Your Love.  Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

The cure for what ails us is a gift.  Vaccines for protection bring painful arms and side effects.  The side effect of the remedy is a better chance for a healthy future.   The cure for our sin brings painful looks in the mirror of our soul and repentance.  The side effect of repentance is grace.  The cure for our eternal separation from God brings the painful sacrifice of the one who loves us most.  The side effect of the ultimate sacrifice is salvation and an eternity with the one who loves us most.  The Remedy, the only Remedy is Jesus.  Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

There is value in keeping little scraps of paper and old tattered journals. I only wished I had realized how valuable before too much life rushed by. I think back to my childhood journals and tattered paper scraps. I remember the pencil-shaped indentation and callouses on the second finger of my writing hand. My skin was discolored from the pencil dust and flaking yellow paint from my favorite classic Number 2 pencils. I would wear the pencils down to nubs, writing sometimes for hours at a time. I can recall the feeling of the scribbled words on the paper and in my mind's eye, I can see flashes of stories created with looping text and poetic frame. For as long as I can remember, I loved to write. My mother shared a similar love. We would talk about our unwritten novels and imagined bestsellers. We created Pen Names we might use if only our dream could be realized. My mother's names were always the most creative. If I were a fiction writer, I might use her favorite someday. It s...

Photo by:  Felicia Buitenwerf on Unsplash I have a friend who was diagnosed with breast cancer. She has graciously embraced this journey as a new assignment not from God but for God's glory. Watching her walk through diagnosis, surgery, recovery, chemo, and near the finish line to a cancer-free declaration has been amazing and inspiring.   I am facing a new assignment of my own. One that appears to be a new health challenge and one that may be without end or cure. I know that something is wrong, but there is more testing and more verifying before it is named. I confess I am having trouble in the wait. The lines are blurred, my assignment sheet appears ink streaked. I find myself shaken at times, not knowing how to simply be still.  I have always been the caregiver for someone else ⸺children (belly-born, foster, and forever family), ill parent, and now my husband who has suffered from a constant barrage of systematic health challenges that often necessitate ful...

When the world crumbles under my feet; When my perceived worth from my eyes doeth fade; I lift my hands—cupped—empty—staid.  You don't see the void. You see my need.   When my knees buckle and I have no strength to stand; When my soul is exhausted and emotions feel dry;  I lift my eyes —fixed—filled—nigh. You don't back away. You enfold and enliven.   When I grieve all that has been lost;  When I can't identify the reason; I bow my head—defeated—resurrected—growing season. You don't let death define me. You give me life.   When my heart explodes with joy; When I can't contain the smile;  I dance unabandoned—twirling—laughing—like a child. You don't look away. You create the rhythm.  When I wake to another day;  When I can't believe the sun is shining;  I soak it in—warm—love—defining. You don't wane. You infuse with Your light.  When I see this life as a gift; When I can't repay all that is due; I proclaim—It's—All—because...

    I have never really thought about what it might mean to “stop and smell the roses.”   Does it truly take an effort to notice the world around me—to live?   I have always struggled with the dichotomy of my personality, everything feels deep, yet I really perceive myself as shallow.   A desire to please is always right on the edge of my sleeve, exposed and ready to be brushed off like clinging fuzz or a hanging string from a seam.   Why do I try so hard to go unnoticed and to miss the noticeable?   I have the capacity to love. I have moments of wisdom—God-given, always.   Living through one full year of a pandemic and staying in lockdown to keep my immune-compromised loved ones safe—myself safe—transforms the act of living to one that is always focused on impending death. As we watch our loved ones suffer or die from a virus that the world is struggling to understand, there are cocoons built around my “noticers.”  Will my inability to...

There are times in our lives when the adage, "better left unsaid" should be heeded.  Once words escape, they cannot be stuffed back into our mouths and out of the memories of the hearer. Words linger in eternal balance and they have the power to bring life or to destroy (Proverbs 18:21).  And misused words can certainly cause regret. Like most, I have had my share of those better left unsaid moments and I have carried the regret that follows.  But, some of my most regretful moments are the "I wish I would have said that" moments. When I think or pray or create with fingers on a keyboard words flow. But when I am face-to-face with a stranger or a friend, my words often fail. They stick deep in my throat and despite how desperately I will them to sound loud, there is silence. The worst of it happens when there is a supernatural connection with someone — a God-moment— and I am frozen.  The quickening of the Holy Spirit, whispering in my ear to just speak and I ...

Beauty Today my thoughts are with my friend who is waiting by the bedside of a loved one. Waiting patiently for heaven's gate to open and to bring peace long awaited. I can think of little else that describes such radiant beauty. There is beauty in presence. There is beauty in the ability to face the ugly and the painful. There is beauty in the ability to sit in the dark, even when we know it is going to get darker before the light breaks through. There is beauty in the shape of hands, even when they lay silent and still. Beauty in the memory of cheeks stroked by long fingers, dishes washed, rhythm kept and praise given as hands clap together or raise heavenward. There is beauty in counting breaths together. There is beauty in memories that flood minds and hearts and the stories passed for generations to retell. There is beauty in being broken and splayed so that only God can fill the gaps that remain. There is beauty when pain makes it possible to identify the e...

January is a time when people, deeply thoughtful people often think of a theme to focus upon during the year. In the same way, for some, quotes or verses are meaningful and frame or mark portions of our lives. I have several Bible verses that I consider to be theme verses—pivot points that can redirect me, reaffirm me and are indelible watermarks on my heart. One of the verses that has been a lifelong theme is Jeremiah 29:11. "For I know the plans I have for you, 'declares the Lord,' plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future." Jer. 29:11 NIV Although I have long ago committed this verse to memory, I believe the Word of God to be living and active. I am never surprised when something new is revealed from the old. And, I am never surprised when God uses one of his own to illuminate what was previously hidden from my eyes and my heart. Yesterday was just such a moment. In a very God-directed sermon, during a conference just for...

Today marks the first day of a new year and the last day of my holiday vacation.  For me, the turn of the year does not fill my head with possibilities for resolutions or do-overs but instead becomes a marathon race to return to normal. The glitz of Christmas red and green are quieted, Nativity sets and holiday decor are wrapped and carefully stored for another year. Scents of pine and sugar cookies are replaced by lemon dusting polish, clean linens, and fresh snow. Food indiscretions are cleaned out — all evidence is gone except the obvious rolls around my waistline. Healthy lunches are packed for the week and my work computer is powered up for the tasks ahead—Normal. My return to normal, rather than the season's peace and joy, waves the checkered flag and the race begins.  If I am not careful, not intentional, I will begin the crest to the new year exhausted—Normal. How do I keep my heart from jumping on the raceway this first day and every day of this new year...

This note was really intended to be part of a Thanksgiving sonnet, paying tribute to the people who have left indelible marks on our hearts. Those who have forever carved initials in the fabric of our lives, and who have become part of the tapestry of our forever. I guess it does not matter that I missed Thanksgiving and that with a page turn, my calendar is headlong into December. It is simply never too late or never inappropriate to give thanks. The three men I would like to thank, may not stand out to the average eye. They are part of a group that is often overlooked and underappreciated. They are young men. Each, younger than the next and nearer to the start of manhood than to my mid-life experience. I have to work hard to reattach myself to the young sometimes. I used to work on a college campus, surrounded by young people and connecting deeply with many as they forged their own paths. I understood the pure nature of the younger crowd. Not yet complicated by years of failure...

There is something different about this particular age. I seem to be more comfortable with my flaws. More comfortable with my abilities and I am a bit more proactive at identifying pitfalls. When I fail, I know it is not due to a lack of effort or that I haven't done my best work. I am beyond loyal—all in, all of the time. When I do fail, I find myself most often, saying "no excuse" just missed the mark.  It is somewhat freeing to be able to simply accept what is.  To identify ways to make it better and move on. Excuses encumber, weigh down and skew the truth. It is impossible to be introspective, self-correct or identify sin when an excuse, like smoked-glass and mirrors, realigns perceptions and tricks the eye or heart. I love that Jesus comes as light (John 8;12). Where excuses hide, light illuminates and exposes (John 1:5). Excuses lose power when brought from darkness to light. God's grace and mercy help me—help us to ask for forgiveness and to accept the o...

I crave silence. The simple stopping of the chaos of the spinning world, my spinning world. I hear it from others too, a moment of silence is all I need.  Mothers hide in bathrooms for a moment's respite away from miniature selfs attached to hips and hands. Earplugs are offered at church doors to block sound and soften atmosphere. We buy insulation for walls, thick glass windows, buffers against sound. What I really crave is internal silence. Even during rare times when I am able to quiet thoughts, there is still an internal buzzing, something eternally noisy that just will not quit. True silence, holy silence is only achieved when we wait on God (Psalm 62:5).  We sit in silence along with the whole of the earth when we come face-to-face with our Heavenly Father (Habakkuk 2:20).  Perhaps I really won't experience or understand silence until I am in heaven when silence becomes awe, wonder, and praise (Revelation 8:1).    This was written as part of the ...

I love fall. It is one of the things that is still such a surprise to my senses. My home state with even temperatures all year round never changed colors. But now, I am surrounded by trees anxious to display hues of red, yellow, and spectacular orange. No matter how tall or how strong the tree appears to be, one strong wind and the beauty streams across the sky only to become a pile of wonder for children who roll and play for hours.  All glorious, but all fleeting. What remains when the leaves are gone?  Shiny trunks, branches with tendriled fingers stretch skyward waiting for the long work of winter. Soaking up the remaining sunshine before the blankets of white arrive. What becomes of the leaves? Eroding, melting into the earth, insulating and feeding roots before ice encases and freezes the ground. Winter's sleep waters and refreshes even though storms rage and threaten to freeze straight through. It is hard work for the tree to lose leaves, then sit and...

It seems that we are often hard-wired to live life through a giant magnifier called "What If?" As parents, we begin asking the question as soon as our child is born. What if I sleep too soundly and don't hear my baby cry in the night?  What if the bath water is too hot or cold? We get a bit older and the questions change. What if he/she doesn't like me?  What if I don't get the job? What if I can't make it up to the top of the mountain?  What if I  (You fill in the question) ?  What ifs on a grand scale can change from questioning and concern to worry and life becomes affected, maybe even derailed.  Our minds become so busy thinking about the endless possibilities and potential outcomes that we live in the shadows. Conversations take place around us and we lose the ability to really engage. After all, what if I say the wrong thing? Or, what if I misinterpret what is being said? What ifs transform into worry. What ifs transform into fear. Wor...

Grief is probably one of the most avoided words in the dictionary. And people, going through grief are often the most avoided people. The pain and sadness that is characteristic of grief, leaks out leaving imaginary puddles around causing people to tiptoe and take wide angles to avoid getting feet wet, to avoid getting stuck in the mud. I know it can be hard to be around the grieving. Five stages that can shift at any moment from sadness to anger to bargaining, all distancing, all painful. But good grief, healthy grief takes work. The grieving has to be intentional about not only facing but going through the pain and the process. It is lonely, lonely work. No one asks for sad. Although the work of grief feels isolated and singular, it does not mean that we should be alone.  It takes a lot of energy to persevere and push through, made much easier by the company of a friend or loved one. It is the ministry and gift of presence that is most important to a grieving friend. Not plac...

As it is transitioning from early evening to dark of night millions of families are going through bedtime routines with little ones.  Lullabies play quietly and parents walk tiptoed and silent from rooms filled with fading soft night lights.  Grown-ups have routines too. Maybe it is a warm bath with sweetly scented water. Or, a steaming cup of herbal tea to soothe weary bones. A spritz of lavender on pillow covers or a white noise app with nature sounds, all meant to provide rest. For me, when my mind is racing or my heart is full, nothing helps. I spend nights tossing and turning until I cannot bear to stay in place any longer. Then, I am simply awake. Or, I drift into slumber for an hour or two only to wake and remain awake for what seems like forever. Somehow, I have convinced myself that my sleepless self can solve the problems of the world (of my world) through spinning thoughts, replaying scenarios hoping that like solving a circular mathematical equation, I w...

Closed doors are so symbolic. A form of protection from weather, critters of all kinds, and intruders.  Doors not only keep things out but keep things from coming in. We use our doors to escape the outside, to shut out the world. What if you are the thing on the other side of that door that is hoping beyond hopes that you can go in settle down by the fire, visit a loved one, and just feel at home.  People have doors too. Closed minds slammed shut to keep out new thoughts, ideas, learning, reasoning or wisdom, Hearts locked securely, key thrown into a deep abyss so nothing can penetrate. It can be easy, really to build a barricade. To lock out everyone and everything that is important. Even God.  That is why I think it so exceptionally beautiful that God uses a door as a symbol of his provision and of his answer to our cries for help. He is the one who has more reason than any created being to slam shut every door, but he doesn't.  Doors swing wide. Doors ...

I have always been a bloom where you are planted kind of person. I  love the comfort of stability, of having the opportunity to grow deep roots and just settle in (dirt and all). When we moved 3,000 miles across the country three years ago, my perspective changed. Suddenly everything was unfamiliar and what once were well-developed roots flopped about on new ground like tiny little tendrils. Not only did I have to adapt, I had to become, to transform, to use my little roots to scratch the surface to find their way. What I discovered, is that there is something about uprooting that makes room for wings. Being unpotted leaves eyes turned upward instead of inward. It gives strength to push through and to march on. To hold the hand of God through uncertainty instead of depending on the deep seating of the legs beneath earth to hold bodies upright when the wind blows. And, the blooms. So temporal and fading and uncreative without the Creator. Being plucked from the pot leaves room f...