//receive and release//

There in the quiet cadence of the rustling leaves,

I find myself stop and take a breath.

This pouring out is a continual thing.

A life of ministry and motherhood,

draws from it constantly.

Even when the cup feels nearer to being empty rather than one that overflows.

I will serve, though it’s not always from a place ready to release

or to generously let go of.

Yet, when I carve out moments in the middle,

or break from the daily flow.

When I make space to quiet my own self in the busyness of life.

When I respond to the sweet beckoning of the Lord.

I hear a whisper in its guiding,

“Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.” (Proverbs 4:23)

When I neglect that part of me,

to sit, to reflect and to receive -

I become so weary.

I wonder why I don’t have the energy

or joy to serve those before me.

Instead of leaning heavy in the doing,

I need to lean heavy into Him.

My heart tugs at me with its own desperate need for filling.

My heart longs for the peace only the Lord can provide.

My heart needs to seek first the Lord,

before focusing on the the ministry I’m doing.

In drawing deep from the His well of love,

is where I can pour out and still thrive.

There is a rhythm to this receiving and releasing.

To be a giver of love and encouragement.

And to be place of continual supply.

It keeps my heart joyful when I take time to rest in His presence.

When I soak in His words of life.

So, find me here at your feet Lord.

Let me walk in the truth and knowledge of you today.

I desire to lavish all I have received from you,

upon others in a more generous way.

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//joy made full//

“Hello” the morning sun whispers. Eyes squinting, I mutter some encouragement to myself as I urge myself to wake up. Tea in hand, I sit down at the well weathered wooden desk. The chair, ragged with a diy kitenge chair pad made years ago, falling apart at the seams. Waiting to be remade. And yet, it is here where I find myself wanting to be. The light seeping through the side window of the room - casting highlights on my forest green mug of steaming tea and sending sunshine cascading along the wall before me. For a moment I’m captivated by the words etched into its being - Joy. In the waiting. I sit and I reflect. Everyone is waiting for something. A healing. For provision. A change in circumstance. For direction. An unanswered prayer. But having joy in the waiting - that’s harder to come by. So, how? If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love , just as I have kept my father’s com...

//in-between places//

I long to see beyond the barriers and blockades standing in my way. Past a wilderness of tangled weeds and leaf-lost, barren trees in an ocean of unruly overgrown green. I can get so caught up with the circumstance or situation standing before me. I see the thorns threatening to pierce and feel myself recoil at the thought of pressing on through the jaggers. Soon forgetting. Soon questioning. Soon doubting. That the path set before me is a good one. Even when I don’t see the sunrise from the valley. Even when I can’t find a foothold on a steep climb. Even when I stumble along a rocky path. “Come. Follow me.” A beckoning carried by breeze, lingering there in the remaining leaves rustling. To walk through and press on. To push past what’s threatening my perspective. To catch a glimpse of what’s to come. And to settle into an undeniable understanding that He will carry me on. Even when I’m caught in the mid...

//tending//

The canopy spread out above me, offering much needed comfort and coolness in the peek of the day. Covering like a leafy blanket, sheltering my being from the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. I sit and I swing. The gentle and steady creaking of a well used green hammock chair, rocking me to calm. Swaying away worries, stress and the anxious thoughts that have tried to take over the past few days. I breathe deep, reminding myself that all these lingering and uncomfortable things will one day pass. Just probably not in the timeline I want. The breeze refreshing, as a twittering orchestra of trills and birdsong echo across the gardens before and behind me. I’m hemmed in. This space has been all but forgotten until now. Three hanging pots still cling to their sturdy branches, but two of them have seen better days. They need some tending to. Come to think of it, I feel like those once flourishing vines in the pots, weary and worn fro...

Wilderness Writing

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