35 years of blossoms and stones…..

35 35 years of learning how to love. Of learning how to stay when my heart already packed, of truth-telling and fair-fighting and forgiving my way back to the place where we stand together in this riotous river of grace. 35 years of sometimes waiting lonesome with a  hungry hope for him, sometimes him loving…

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Holding space for mystery….

Sometimes words fall,  scrambled,  at the feet of one you’d hoped would hear, scattered like tiny stones, so that instead of understanding and connection, you hold your story alone. In reaching out to try and build something real, to find and clear where wires crossed, sometimes relationship is restored; sometimes you must grieve what is lost. These are hurts we’ve all wrestled…

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Feels like growing young….

I’m into something real, that has my heart grinning surprised, my world a little rocked by this wild, brave,  fear-defying adventure i’ve been wilding for my whole life long, and didn’t have a clue, so simple and subversive, this business of forgiveness, that frees me up  when I go there instead of numbing or running (oh how often I…

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thick with wild hope…

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…

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