sticks, stones
all of these bare branches and nests i've been seeing; all of this early spring pruning metaphor?
up with the dawn and being extra grateful to be alive today, i followed the sound of the creek in search of pussy willows.
a stone altar stands in the path, reminding me of signposts in our lives; times when faithfulness stood ground. grabbing a stray blackberry vine to steady myself across the log bridge only later did i notice it had cut into my hand. for i found myself, mud boots inch deep in fertile spring, surprised and surrounded by flowering blossoms.
"for He grew up before Him like a tender shoot" wrote the prophet Isaiah.
we get to be here. thank you that i get to be here for my appointed time. oh how you know what it's like to live here too.
on the return trip i grabbed a pile of those bare branches from the burn pile and set them up along the stair railing to my loft, bringing the outside in.
name Him, dare.
break not one of His bones.
lenten love notes in sticks, stones.
up with the dawn and being extra grateful to be alive today, i followed the sound of the creek in search of pussy willows.
a stone altar stands in the path, reminding me of signposts in our lives; times when faithfulness stood ground. grabbing a stray blackberry vine to steady myself across the log bridge only later did i notice it had cut into my hand. for i found myself, mud boots inch deep in fertile spring, surprised and surrounded by flowering blossoms.
"for He grew up before Him like a tender shoot" wrote the prophet Isaiah.
we get to be here. thank you that i get to be here for my appointed time. oh how you know what it's like to live here too.
on the return trip i grabbed a pile of those bare branches from the burn pile and set them up along the stair railing to my loft, bringing the outside in.
name Him, dare.
break not one of His bones.
lenten love notes in sticks, stones.
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