Tonight I blurred my words and remembered you, fondly. Sometimes when you blur your words with a friend—it heals your soul, and you know you’re not alone. You are not alone. The vagueness of life demands analgesic, and sharing of vulnerabilities leaves the sweetest taste. In the braided arms of convivial moments and beloved friends…
Category: photography
Unmerited
To spurn all of this— To credit no one for the systematic order and glory of the universe—that He spoke into existence by the breath of a Word, conceived by the sharp-edge of wit, unmatched, cared for by the extravagant heart of a benevolent Father, and held together by the surge and swell of unbending…
Winter Sweep
The fire crackles hot, while I drink steaming mugs of tea on the run. I would like to pause to mark these moments laden with winter beauty, the icy limbs of barren branches, the silver silence of powder snowfall, the midnight, moonlight sparkle of downy flake, and the blinding sting of noonday. But my closets…
Crimson Ribbon of Joy Part 1
“Joy is the serious business of heaven.” CS Lewis Part 1 Under the Yew Tree The autumn air grew chilly as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was that time of day—just past sunset— that falls heavy in the air and everything on land, sea, and sky grows distant and melds into steely gray…
Resisting Ceremony
Resisting Ceremony There is something in the conceit of youthfulness that resists ceremony. Maybe I am a middle-aged woman who still dresses up for church, remembers the Pilgrims on Thanksgiving Day, recites the pledge of allegiance to my country with joy and pride and thinks that formal observance transcends post-modern culture. I am a one who…
Rusted Filigrees
Rusted Filigrees It will not be said of me that “I staggered not” at the promises of faith, rather that “my hand held the sword.” I’ve altered and swayed, plummeted in despair and hoped to hope. Yet I held focus in all the shifting on that which changes not. I’ve lingered much on…
Skull Hill
Skull Hill In heaven, Skull Hill will never be a faint memory, rather a mountain we climb daily. The practice of devotion will continue, learned from our earthly courses and lessons in overcoming in victory. In Paradise, we can stop the climb, but we won’t desire that. The journey to the cross is too familiar…
Creative Synapases
Creative Synapses My creative synapses will make sense to me someday. They will not sputter in chaotic release, release, yes, but that utterance of halting expression which I must tame and strengthen to the core will one day flow in order. Ideas that I must now systematize and pull and push into place, stuffing into…
Bonnie Saul Wilks 