The Flood

Painting by Liam Rainsford The Flood Yesterday’s burdens weighed you down — too heavy for the long road as they gathered in the corners of your heart. Let the blueness of that wound you bear today become a scouring tide; let it rise and wash away winter’s broken, brown debris. Let the tears flow, let … More The Flood

Like No Other

Ever-Increasing Light Jewish Sabbaths, Feasts, and More Marking Jewish Themes with Distinction “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy” (Ps. 137:5-6). Wayne and I … More Like No Other

Bluest Ever

Bluest Ever The Indian Paintbrushes are jealous of the Bluebonnets, and maybe that is why they riot along the roadsides and highways. Bluebonnets don’t care. They prefer to silently parade across the new sprung grass during their seasonal spell in the spring; and certainly, they do not compete with paintbrush strokes of garish neon orange. … More Bluest Ever

The Slice That Cuts

The Slice that Cuts Once you grasp the fleetingness of life — and it dawns on you in tiny increments as you grow — you are always savoring the sweetness of living and vitality of those living around you, family and friends who join your journey and increase its treasure. Yet on some indefinable level … More The Slice That Cuts

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 … More Resisting Ceremony

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 … More Rusted Filigrees

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 … More Skull Hill