I skipped a week, didn’t I,
and haven’t told you yet how you made my birthday bright.
So bright (palms clasped).
I hope you can hear the warm thanks in my voice as I write.
You mean a million sweet somethings to me.
I’ve been walking,
a kind of winter walkabout.
It started as a trail of frozen tears
but took me deeper into the wild and I discovered some buried joy
as cold pale violet sunshine and howling roar of river
cut through rock and ice to heal some wounds been haunting me.
You see, the turn of year found my mind a nervous little fury,
stalking solution like a hungry beast,
the bare bones of my soul exposed,
a naked tree creaking in the wind.
So I’ve been walking it out,
holding the whispers,
feeling the true of it,
leaning into love
that’s holding gentle onto me
And here I am at season’s end
wrapped in the soft grace of peace again,
the feel of my small hand in the warm embrace of a larger, steady one;
it’s enough that I’m simply held
and I feel it in my wintery places, those arms around me snug
and safe like the grownup voices sang
while my little girl eyes traced colorful glass drenched in sunshine
and thought it funny why a soul would make a song
about leaning on arms that lasted forever
and how it swept me into wonder.
I feel it now, belly deep and center,
right where my heart grabs hold of life and squeezes it dear,
and I’m leaning hard and honest the whole of me
into tender arms that loved and held me first
and it feels true as the trees
and I believe it’s solid all the more.
“Faith is a place of mystery, where we find the courage to believe
in what we cannot see, and the strength to let go
our fear of uncertainty.”