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Connecting, Heart to Heart

I keep bumping into people who look fine on the outside. When I stay quiet and listen, they talk on. That person is leaving a familiar rut to just talk. I prize the moment, the heart connection. The good news: when we expose a sadness, healing begins; when we expose the truth, we live more fully. Like with the stump of a tree, reaching for the light and putting out new leaves. There’s goodness and compassion in the light. We become like the Shepherd taking care of His flock when we listen to another. As we listen with compassion, we become a haven, a safe place. It is a gift we can give. This week my topic for children at church was on Giving. I asked the boys and girls to name things they o

“Delight Me, Lord”

I woke up at 3:28. Plenty of time to dread the upcoming dental work. A front tooth was loose. According to my dentist, the tooth could crumble when he pulls it. Then what? I sat up in bed, imagining a 73-year-old woman with a missing front tooth. Not cute like with a five-year- old. I felt like a fourth grader with the problem-solving skills of a fourth grader and no trust. I want a wee bit of control over what happens inside my mouth and to my body. I know to trust and pray, but the worry thing can sneak up on me, right in the middle of a prayer! Wide awake, so I went ahead and asked the Lord to surprise me today, to help me, to even delight me. God surprises me daily with fawns, chipmunks,

I Need the Light

Summer or winter, I throw open the blinds and curtains. I want light like a sunflower standing tall in a garden. When others think there’s enough light, I am looking for more, always looking. Something about seeing. Something sacred about it. Last week, I left a soft light burning all night in the dining room. I was aware of it from the bedroom, but once I connected it to peace, I just let it stay on. Our country has so much unrest, and I forget to be thankful for the peace inside of me. For the most part, I do not walk around with troubled thoughts. The way I think is probably how I keep anxiety at bay. And writing words in a poem or journal creates calmness for me. We have a terrier who si

“I am one of God’s favorites.”

I listen to young teens ruminating about the great harvest of apples, nests in the trees, apples of “no worth” purposefully left behind for squirrels and crows, how to place the stem end on the peeler…. I wonder if they are deaf to their own words. Words sometimes holding shame: should, have to, ought to. The same words my brother, sister, and I used to overpower each other. And how old were we before outgrowing them? Some never outgrow such deeply planted words, beating themselves up with them all of their lives. A death-squeeze to one who grows up feeling unlovable. Can we hear Jesus saying that we are lovable when we are busy telling ourselves how we are dumb, not okay, not good enough? I

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