Give to me the gospel of the fields and woods,

                                           The sermons written in the book of books;

                                           The sweet communion of the things on earth

                                           Fresh with the warm baptism of the sun;

                                           Give me the offertory of bud and bloom,

                                           The perfect caroling of happy birds;

                                           Give me the creed of one of God's fair days

                                           Wrought in the beauty of its loveliness;

                                           And then the benediction of the starts,

                                           His eloquent ministers of the night.



                                                                                                                    -Ravenscroft

[grateful thoughts]

A glance back over the shoulder at the moments & adventures shared

in order to gaze upwards & thank the Giver of all

car rides & cuddles with pups named Pancake

mornings spent walking in parks & dreaming of days to come

days started with colorado coffee in french presses

work that makes me feel like I'm in exactly the right place

kitchen giggles & yummy dinners

 all with the most lovely best a gal could ask for

night rides with acoustic tunes simply "because"

to adopt words that sum it up better than I can say:

"Here's to gratitude and how it turns everything into enough."

{ http://www.todaysletters.com/ }

the day I decided not to go back

The question begged:
What would you do if you had no fear of the future?

The answer startled.
Abrupt and simple:
To not return.

It's simplicity, refreshing. It's boldness, ravishing.
There it stood, the answer.
Left aside for time,
so thoughts could simmer and swirl.

Rising again in a modest moment.
This answer ushered freedom.
Speaking softly of Hope and unabashed Trust.

Now shared with Joy complete,
no telling of what days forward will bud in to.
The Guide grasps my hand by His side.
His Presence enough as we sojourn in to coming time.

to the Artist

Thank You for the dreamers,
the everyday future writers.

Thank You for the workers,
the craftsman of unordinary days.

Thank You for the ponderers,
the thinkers that don't settle.

Thank You that You are their Center,
the ebb and flow of your love the motivation.

Thank You for the creators,
the shapers of mosaic life.

Thank You for the singers,
the voices of our condition.

Thank You for the welders,
the molders of intention.

Thank You that You are their Reason,
the cascading crash of Your grace in to our brokenness the story.

starting fresh

      Gratitude for

          a house full for Sunday night dinner

          waking in the dark to greet the day

          days spent with faces new and hearts of gold

          mugs on walls, window washing, & yirgacheffe black

          midday naps and hours that run long

          night walks & rooftop concerts

          Old Pine by Ben Howard

          celebration of all sorts

       
       

a grand expedition

There are moments like this where I look at my life and I simply cannot comprehend the vast difference a mere 365 days makes.

A year ago I was anticipating classes, and frankly had no idea what to expect of the new season I found myself in.

The lack of knowledge of what tomorrow holds is still present, but in a new sense. Beyond the counter which I will spend several consecutive hours of my day behind - I truly know not what to anticipate.

There are moments where my mind whirls with all the possibilities - other pauses where I sit and chuckle, wondering what AM I to do?

There is this delightful aura to the life I'm leading at the moment. One of tales not yet unfolded and dreams like a kite flying unfettered in my mind's wind.

This path is scattered with grinds, lined with the friendliest of faces, and I'm being led by my ever-present Guide. To stand and wander down this path - new to me, yet known to Him, is to enter in to the grand expedition. Of which I know not what each day holds, but only
Who holds it.

Whether it contain warm embers of kindred hearts, or if it will bring with it a bridge to traverse over hurt in to healing. Each step is taken in the print of the One that walks before me. With Whom I shall know no fear.

it is here

Images flit back and forth
Words are tossed unabashedly
Pictures give way to living art forms
Speech turns to proclamations of hope

It is here that we dream.

Prayers are poured forth
Wisdom sought for in circles
Conversations with the Most High are had
Encouragement is borne out of crossing lines

It is here that we seek.

Ideas are molded carefully
Hearts light with anticipation
Clasped hands are opened to all He has
Spirits united directed towards One

It is here that we surrender.