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!)

the play’s the thing….

I’ve been taking some time
to get to know myself better,
playing with soul playdough,
listening to what the shapes become,
like a second shot at kindergarten
that lets my  muchness be.

I’m a wave rider,
art maker,   star gazer,  tree hugger,   joy finder,
truth teller,   song seer,   God believer
and I’m learning to think like a farmer,
dance like a child,
cry like a girl,
love wholehearted
rest in motion,
and follow my hope.

I like sunshine and breezes,
and rivers when they ramble,
roses when they climb,
peace when it’s real,
and while I’m a dreamy soul,
I’m fierce in a fight.
I hate war
but I hate slavery more.

I’m happy when I’m pruning,
coaxing the fullness out of broken and  silenced spaces,
nudging them into healing light.
We ‘ve all got ’em,   those places
and nothing makes me quiver glad
like the strong fragile beauty
of  hearts getting free.

I like people more than paper,
facetime more than distance,
interaction more than book-writing
and playing more than perfecting.

So I’ve been un-sewing a book
that wasn’t ready to be born
and quilting pieces into playful material
for churning creative butter,
to nudge and tickle hearts childlike again.

I’ll be sharing some playhouse putty
from time to time
here
and loving it if you want to  play along too.

the play's the thing….

I’ve been taking some time
to get to know myself better,
playing with soul playdough,
listening to what the shapes become,
like a second shot at kindergarten
that lets my  muchness be.

I’m a wave rider,
art maker,   star gazer,  tree hugger,   joy finder,
truth teller,   song seer,   God believer
and I’m learning to think like a farmer,
dance like a child,
cry like a girl,
love wholehearted
rest in motion,
and follow my hope.

I like sunshine and breezes,
and rivers when they ramble,
roses when they climb,
peace when it’s real,
and while I’m a dreamy soul,
I’m fierce in a fight.
I hate war
but I hate slavery more.

I’m happy when I’m pruning,
coaxing the fullness out of broken and  silenced spaces,
nudging them into healing light.
We ‘ve all got ’em,   those places
and nothing makes me quiver glad
like the strong fragile beauty
of  hearts getting free.

I like people more than paper,
facetime more than distance,
interaction more than book-writing
and playing more than perfecting.

So I’ve been un-sewing a book
that wasn’t ready to be born
and quilting pieces into playful material
for churning creative butter,
to nudge and tickle hearts childlike again.

I’ll be sharing some playhouse putty
from time to time
here
and loving it if you want to  play along too.