Happy Monday! It is crisp and clear here in Northwest PA and most of us are about to watch the glorious dance of letting go.
The air is crisp, as the dance begins
The dance of letting go,
ebbing into color,
a glorious sunset in the trees.
Glory, turns to fade,
they cling to the familiar,
a twisting, a turning, a wrangling to stay.
The winds of change will win,
bringing bittersweet release.
The wild finale
floating
twirling
a falling to the earth
The place where death, becomes new life.
I have been on a treasure hunt these last few months, choosing to find God’s Glory in every small thing. It truly is a choice, to choose praise over panic, delight over dejection. I recommend it, it does a work in the heart that is slow and good.
One delight I wake to each morning is my morning cup of coffee. I wakes me nice and slow and is truly a gift from God.
May you never drink your morning cup the same. 🙂
Morning Coffee
The glass pot is worn, golden
it sits waits each morning,
my faithful friend
I pour the water,
scoop beans, grown from trees,
picked by human hands
I grind the beans,
until they look like dirt, rich and brown
a planting, a growing of courage for the day
I watch as the hot water pours,
taking bits of the bean with it,
soaking in their taste, their flavor
As if magic has taken place,
steaming toffee colored liquid
drops into the pot,
drip
by
drip
I stand waiting, watching,
waking to the day,
a slow waking is what I like best
At last my cuppa is ready,
I curl up in my chair,
wrapped in my fuzzy robe
Holding it close to my chest,
a steaming cup of liquid gold
I breath it in, sip it slow
Its energy warms me,
wakes me, soothes me,
this simple comfort found in a cup.
We are living in times where we feel discouraged and out of control on so many levels. This is a perfect opportunity to remind ourselves, to take moment, Selah, To Pause in His Presence. In those moments we recognize that He is our Shield, He is our Glory, He is the Lifter of Our Head.
But You, O Lord are a shield for me
My glory and the One who lifts up my head Psalm 3:3
Selah
I wake and press my feet onto the cool morning floor
What does the day hold?
Will I laugh with joy?
Will tears fall?
Will rage rise, or sorrow come?
Will I see the unjust,
unwanted and unaware?
Will I hear of suffering,
neglect, the cry of the forgotten?
Will I wade through lies,
twisted truths and propaganda?
Will sickness suddenly come?
The sun begins to rise, questions loom as fog,
I whisper a prayer.
I pause in His presence, Selah
The quiet purrs in my ears,
no words are spoken, no answer comes
A head bent low, must lift
I see the sun in all of its glory, a new day begins
Made to be filled,
yet always pouring out to empty.
I have been the pitcher, empty,
poured out
until
the
last
drop
I have been the pitcher, full,
to the brim,
filled
with
living
water
in the pouring, in the filling,
is a life of delights.
—————————————————————————————————————————————–
Stones sit quiet
Setting foundations, rising into mountains,
sparking fire, skipping on water,
pressed in riverbeds,
they bear the imprints of life.
In the setting, in the sparking,
In the skipping, in the pressing, they listen.
Listen for the silence, that is their call.
Will their voices sing in chorus, as I hold them in my hand?
His praise be ever on my lips, that I may never know.
Every once and a while something cool happens. A literary press, Underwood Press, picked up one of my pieces. One of my favorites. 
There is something special about having other writers/editors saying yes to something you have submitted. 
Sometimes encouragement comes, just when you are at the end of your own.
You can check out my piece, The Weavers here https://underwoodpress.com/Underwood/?p=347 and the full issue here https://underwoodpress.com/Underwood/?page_id=61
Thank you for reading along,
In these days of quiet, chaos I have been searching to find God’s glory in every little thing. As always, He has been faithful to show it to me. As I was making a bowl of mango salsa this week, suddenly, there it was.
Mango Salsa
The dog days of summer,
the garden is wild and heavy with fruit.
Tomato vines crawl over beans, threaten cucumbers and taunt the zucchini.
Tomatoes sun themselves,
ever changing, green, and pink and red,
abundance is waiting, ripe for the picking.
Mangoes tarry, cradled in a bowl,
eager to greet their longtime friends.
Their meeting place, the cutting board.
The quiet slicing of deep red, and cubes, yellow like the sun
The same knife slides through red onions, grown in shallow dirt
Swaying cilantro is picked and chopped as its scent fills the air.
With one brush of the knife,
the patchwork of colors tumble into a glass bowl,
it must be glass, they must be seen.
The lime is cut and gently squeezed,
salt and pepper sprinkled, gladly join the bowl.
The familiar wooden spoon tosses them gently together.
All started from seed, hidden in the dark,
In the darkness. In the quiet.
He was there.
In one moment, He brought them into his glorious light.
They came together, God’s Harvest,
in all its taste, in all its glory.
#gloryovereverything
I recently read a book called, The Poetry of Strangers, it spoke about the slower process of typing out a poem, key stroke by key stroke.
You can check out the book here The Poetry of Strangers
Then I was gifted three manual typewriters, that came from an old house, and the tiniest house I’ve ever seen. The woman who lived in this tiny house, typed the titles for our township. Now my fingers rest on those same keys, I love that! 💗
I pulled out my paints and hand painted some paper and then started typing.
There is something about working with your hands that is so absorbing. The clickty clack of the typewriter so satisfying.
This verse has been my anchor all summer. Reminding me that minding my own business, living a quiet life and working with my hands are good things. They bring peace and purpose to my life and that is good and it’s contagious. ☺️
That you also aspire to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business, and to work with your own hands, as we commanded you, that you may walk properly toward those who are outside, and that you may lack nothing.
1 Thessalonians 4:11-12
I’m hoping to offer custom hand typed poems soon! 🌺
