Whisper a little word….

It’s a new day
with a fresh batch of lines on another page
and I’m grateful for the beginnings we carve out in the long stretches of time
to mark and remember and celebrate.
Celebrate….my one little word for the last 365.
I called it a challenge from the start and it didn’t disappoint:)
I showed up to the spirit of the word most days
and gave myself a gentle pass when my heart just couldn’t dance,
knowing it would rise again soon to the rhythm of my joy still flowing.
And again and again I did.
Good enough,  dear self.  Good enough.

This year rolled in with a little word so clear that my belly jumped to a flop when I heard it.
Life whispered, “overcome” – with a twist.
And it’s the  t w i s t   that turned my heart to listen curious.

The way I’ve always heard it,
overcome feels like take the beach,
get over that wall,  run at it again,  and never accept defeat.
It feels hardbody and endurance and guts and glory and strength.
But it landed in me like a snowflake on my cheek.

Be overcome
be overtaken,
overwhelmed and in-too-deep.
Swept up by light and wonder and joy and truth,
unguarded
unmanaged,
unquenched.

Let my heart and hands fall
open
like a riverbank rushed over,
Let life flood over my defenses until I come again untamed.

I may shy to the new of coming loose from old moorings
but I want to show up to it all,
to raise my heart into the day
and wring out love like holy water

To say to the scared child of me
that you are not too small for this big world
….get on in,  hands in the air,  and grin into the windy turns.
Be overcome – this is how the best art is made.

Be brave enough to
let
go
more,
be overcome this year.

“Life shrinks or e-x-p-a-n-d-s
in proportion to one’s courage.”
– Anais Nin

I’ve been gone for two months!
Good reasons for the hush but ready to wrap some things in words
to come back here and share.
I love getting to share this journey with you.
Thanks for being here:)

 

a heartfull of hymn….

 

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For rivers and fountains and leaves and fields
and bulbs and seeds and stories and songs
and all the ways that love pours in
when hope holds open the door,
I whisper thanks,

and for flight and flutter and drift and dance
and all the ways that family happens,  that art happens,
that rest and freedom and hope happen…..for all that inspires,
I sing it out loud,  thanks,

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for starshine and moonlight and candles burning slow,
for electricity and clean windows and reading glasses
and lamps softly glowing and my favorite sunbeam on the stairs,
I’m grateful all the more,

and for the light that leads me to the ones I need
and to the ones who need something of me,
for the feeling of an open road,  the fierce mystic restoration of  forgiveness
and for every shade and tone and color and hue,
for both and also and yet and still
and right on time,
I belt it out,   thank you,

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for the ways we become more peaceful,  more playful,  less prickly
as time and grace and trouble flow across our rough edges
and iron sharpens iron
and we change and disentangle and grow,
for the unexpected lift when all we could see was
a slow,  dark climb,
for all the ways that provision can come  and surprise
I’m twirling here…..thanks,

That this journey is messy and ours and thick with mystery
and none of it wasted,
for love…..that love is the flying,
I hurl it,  fling it,
sing it out,  dance and swing and whoop it loud
from the bottom of this heart of mine,  I give it now,
thanks.

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“Can you stand in the stillness,  in the stillness can you stand,
cause you’ll always dream of flying
but everybody lands,
in this world full of voices  screaming in your ear,
only in the quiet will you hear

You are loved,  you are golden
and the circle won’t be broken
when you sail into the shadow of the storm.
We are sons,  we are daughters
in this world of troubled waters,
just hold on,   just hold on
you are loved,  you are golden.”
-Amy Grant

I’ll be sending a bounty of love to the deeply beautiful  rachel awes
whose name I drew this morning.
Again this week and all month,  if you stop and say hello,  I’ll plop your name
into the drawing at the end of the week
for another “love bomb”
(aren’t happy packages in the mail just the best!)

September sunset….

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I live among the trees,
grand oaks and maples and sycamores and poplars
that gift us with their shade and rustle,
a rich sound-stage for songbirds and owls
and bands of other feathered musicians
who fill our days and nights with their achingly beautiful sounds.
I love our trees and they mostly love us back,
dropping the kindling for our fires
and painting our seasons with their poetry.

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But other than a wee sunny spot in front for growing things,
the sunset sky doesn’t find us here in our little home in the grove
and for many years I’ve bustled busy during that golden hour,
finishing my day work and beginning my evening chores
so I can steal away some time beneath the stars.

 My heart is calling me out this month,
beyond the trees,   where the sun sets brilliant
over fields and farms and parks and gardens
that I know and love by day.

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I’m making a gift to myself for September,
an hour each evening to chase the light,
free to watch and listen
and awe and click my camera unhurried,
to nuzzle my face into the last lingering glow
of the day.

Come pour yourself another cup
and let’s sit  together quiet,  wrapped in golden rays,
filling up on light.
I’ll meet you there:)

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Hope is no less realistic than despair.
It is still our choice whether to live in light
or lie down in darkness.”
-Rick Yancey

thick with wild hope…

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My lap is full of January,
these simple bells,  one for each day,
my heart poured out in bits of art
that keep the stories stirred
and speaking.

I don’t want to forget these riffs,
the horse and rider and rushing water,
blackbirds and hawk and torn feathers beside her,
another year marked with a yes and a go,
crossing the bridge and whistling loudly hope,
of freebird and primroses and stepping into the flow
and open wide and yield inside
down where the soaring grows.

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And I’m feeling new spaces
in even old places,
done with grieving things done and gone,
and I’m letting new eyes
open me wide,
fresh born hope lighting me up inside,
forgiveness  lifting off the weight of hard time
till even my air is going softer,
amazed at the grace,
grinning and breathing
and whispering thanks.

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January has been intense,
a whole lot of living for just one month
and I’m feeling the wild hope
I dreamed of as a child;
when the words find me
I’ll wrap them up and share
because you’re on my mind always
with an always kind of love.

“When hope is not pinned wriggling onto a shiny image
or expectation,
it sometimes floats forth
and opens.”
-Anne Lamott

(and,  hey,  I disappeared from google reader for several weeks.
I believe I’m back,  restored,
but I think maybe you’ll have to sign up again.
oh bother,  I know.
If you see me there,  will you let me know?)

my wild and precious yes…

Dear God,

I heard the shouted “no!”s and flinched inside
where you hold and heal me still
and I think it get it,
this collective wound
that rages against the “you” we’ve painted
with our broken down lives
and it smells like puke, the hurt we do
and chills my spine,
that sound of windows breaking
to let the bad air out.

Cause you don’t smell like that,
you who are breath and sky and sea to me,
and hope and wildflowers and freedom to be
and I’m pretty sure of all beings
the most misunderstood
and judged false by blind pain,

your poetry and parables calculated and pinched
until we see you as the worst
of what we are
….as if we could ever know an artist’s heart
with a scalpel
or dissect a living thing
to poke pure creative genius
until we understand.

I likely know less than I think I do
but I want my life  space to  let you be you
in that same brave way you let us choose to love
or leave you alone.

My soul rests easy
in how secure you seem,
not power-tripping or  punishing or pushy
like the posters we paste
on political walls.

And I’m grateful how you set my heart
to twirling
and spatter flecks and speckles of  honest love
and awe
I throw my life open wide
with welcome,
I want you
~  my  one
wild and precious yes.

“Tell me,  what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
-Mary Oliver