tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79777591192542288372024-02-07T19:02:29.036-06:00Prone to WanderA bloggy place to think out loud.
"Here's my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above." (Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, v. 3)Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.comBlogger3069125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-91643936178823304192020-11-11T11:33:00.001-06:002020-11-11T14:13:43.588-06:00"Think something of beauty..."I think something of beauty and human flourishing are one and the same, and the heart of God’s work through Jesus is reconciliation and human flourishing. It is so easy to let anger, self-righteousness and even violence lead, but beauty takes time, thought, patience – something supernatural – a transformed heart.
Sara Groves, from "Why It Matters..."
Noise often drowns it out. A Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-12174387728673671612020-04-09T11:49:00.000-05:002020-04-09T11:49:05.243-05:00on waiting for bigger, brighter days
I go out to see the Super Pink Moon and I know it is right there. I guess the overcast skies told it to shelter in place. I feel a little bad, though I know that the moon doesn't feel at all. I can see the outline of the moon lined up with the sun, ready to reflect all that light in a moment of glory. There it is, hanging high in the sky, ready for this Biggest Brightest Day of the Year, and Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-90759774374584395132020-01-26T20:34:00.000-06:002020-01-26T20:34:37.571-06:0010/366
"Objects in mirror are closer than they appear."
Isn't that true of life? Those things that I would be prone to keep at a distance?
The kids that shout and lean in close for an embrace when I walk out the gate.
The dusty dirty streets that I walk each day.
The noisy sounds and funky smells that cause me to shake my head.
The brilliant splashes of color that brighten the ordinary drab.
The Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-2036869080485798412020-01-26T15:21:00.002-06:002020-01-26T15:21:42.657-06:008/366
"All for not studying," it says. All of us who know Spanish pretty much let out an audible gasp and open our eyes a tad wider when we read it. But yes, the garbage cart owner asked for that to be painted on the back of his trailer. To us, it seems to be a condemnation of sorts, but honestly, he seems sort of proud of it.
I heard it during my growing up years, and I still hear it today- if you Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-35311725583679310482020-01-08T08:45:00.001-06:002020-01-08T08:45:17.552-06:007/366
The world-making Word had to fuss with the minutiae of making a living. He had family drama and knuckle-headed friends, temptations and distractions to sort out. He spent much of his life making and fixing things that served a purpose and were lost and forgotten. He knew the value and the vanity of toil. The inauguration of the life of the world to come was made up of hard work, simple Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-169795549678424952020-01-05T21:54:00.002-06:002020-01-05T21:54:43.570-06:005/365
"Yes, I am a dreamer, for a dreamer is one who can find his way by moonlight, and see the dawn before the rest of the world." Oscar Wilde
I wake up to sewer smells in the bathroom and to smokey smells in the living room and I wonder how much my life expectancy might be lowered by the various fumes I inhale around here. And I can hear chickens and dogs and a train in the distance making Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-67804379007766391032020-01-02T22:31:00.002-06:002020-01-02T22:31:41.848-06:002/365
I wore today like comfortable old shoes that fit just right. I woke up before the sun and slid out of bed and over to the chair in the corner of the room and sat still to listen. I read those familiar words, faithful and true. My guy delivered a latte with a kiss. I got in the car and drove three turns and ended up with two-handed coffee and a most trusted confidant and prayers washed with Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-71315490129138851662020-01-02T11:01:00.000-06:002020-01-02T11:01:22.420-06:001/365
"Getting old is not for sissies," she tells me as we rise. We have just finished lunch, treating me by sharing the gift card she receives from her kids every year. She celebrated her 75th birthday just a week ago. I nod my head in agreement at her wisdom while moving with hesitation, my tailbone still sore from a hard fall several weeks earlier. I think about my husband, eagerly anticipating Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-45458290908144052852019-07-17T15:15:00.000-05:002019-07-17T15:15:27.965-05:00on June
We moved back into Mexico, back into the 'hood back at the end of May, all sweet, no bitter. I missed this place, these people, in those few months away, missed it all mightily. Of course, memories show themselves nostalgic when you go away from a place. I confess, I forgot about those daily things that I can be so tempted to be annoyed by, like drainage projects that last for years and the Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-47473569213252333152019-02-10T08:15:00.001-06:002019-02-10T08:15:32.930-06:00Reflections
The shades of gray vary only slightly on a hazy February day at the beach. The shadowy line on the distant horizon distinctly divides the sea from the sky. But still, all remains shades of gray, khaki gray sand, green gray sea, silver gray haze, and blue gray sky. The waves roll to the shore, whitecaps splashing one curve into another. A rip current runs parallel to the beach, a speedboat Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-17835889837544674862018-12-12T14:08:00.000-06:002018-12-12T14:08:53.413-06:002 years
Everyone experiences grief differently, not a right way or a wrong way, but differently. I suppose we all have ideas of what grief should look like, or will look like, but the truth is, we don't know how we will respond until it happens.
Two years ago on this day, my first grandson died. We lived our worst nightmare that first month. The first year continued to be hard, all the firsts without Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-89262921881657562882018-12-04T10:09:00.003-06:002018-12-04T10:09:44.286-06:00"Hey! Unto you a child is born!"“The Herdmans were absolutely the worst kids in the history of the world. They lied and stole and smoked cigars (even the girls) and talked dirty and hit little kids and cussed their teachers and took the name of the Lord in vain and set fire to Fred Shoemaker’s old broken-down toolhouse.”
Barbara Robinson, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever
No one with the name Herdman will be found in Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-59345934378982980692018-12-02T08:39:00.000-06:002018-12-02T08:41:32.173-06:00DPP 1- It's not yet time(December Photo Project day 1)
The first of December seems like a good day to decorate for Christmas. I pull out the box of last year's decorations from the bottom shelf. I take the tree off the top of the refrigerator, its home for the last 11 months, and dust it off. I remove the string of lights from my headboard. The Pumpkin Vanilla candle and orange plaid runner and "Give Thanks" sign move Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-42626466331559058822018-09-25T13:19:00.000-05:002018-09-25T13:19:26.872-05:00264/365
My grandpa kept his earthworms in a tin bucket in a dark corner of the garage. My sister and I, we would dig just a little bit beneath the surface and they would start to show themselves, wiggly in the musty peat. He was the first fisherman I knew, my grandpa. He would sit patiently on the banks of New Mexico lakes or wave his fly rod in a slow and rhythmic wave in the middle of cold mountain Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-62454844934685588072018-09-17T11:50:00.001-05:002018-09-17T11:50:28.070-05:00254/365
They come through our gate nearly every time the community center opens, a sister and brother with slight builds and dark hair and big brown eyes. You know when they arrive. They tend to be loud and proud. The little guy's pitch is higher than the Muppet Elmo. I confess, sometimes we ask him to repeat himself just so we can listen to him and then smile. Sometimes the middle brother comes along Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-82929653894838678192018-09-11T08:51:00.000-05:002018-09-11T08:51:05.893-05:00251/365
Simple Saturday gratitude-
"Then you will know that I am the Lord.
Those who trust in me will never be put to shame.” (Isaiah 49:23 NLT)
"...the real display of faith is when we trust God's character even when we don't understand his responses or timing." (Carolyn McCulley)
Hot mug, quiet desk.
Comfort apple cinnamon oatmeal.
The satisfaction of a steaming Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-84320228823209717042018-09-08T14:25:00.001-05:002018-09-08T14:25:38.100-05:00248/365
We set out, cards in hand, to give out invitations. We're beginning an outreach specifically for girls in our neighborhood, those from 12 to 18 years old. Our hope is to gather weekly and share an activity and some purposeful conversation and some food and some fun and maybe even some transparency, one with another. It's a new thing.
It takes only a few steps to remember that we are not in Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-82535685507103447122018-09-05T16:14:00.000-05:002018-09-05T19:00:40.043-05:00247/365
Now that September has arrived, seemingly everyone in the world appears to be back to school. The weather sure doesn't feel anything close to fall in these parts- "and on Wednesday we'll dip down into the 90's..." said a local weather guy early in the week. (WHAT?! "DIP" into the 90's?!) Nonetheless, here with our Aquiles neighborhood kids, we are working our way back to the usual Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-29672657980882003412018-09-05T08:10:00.001-05:002018-09-05T08:10:42.732-05:00246/365
"Greetings from Reynosa. I am doing administrative work today and notice that this email address..."
And such started many notes on this day, as I try to reconcile and consolidate several address lists for our missions giving and communications. Through the wonder of technology, we can see who opens our mail, and who doesn't. This sort of business can be a cumbersome work for a natural Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-26671647821196395132018-06-13T21:04:00.000-05:002018-06-13T21:06:40.932-05:00161/365
The sojourners finished their sometimes long, often wandering, and nearly always dangerous journeys to the United States, only to wait. Some waited nearly two weeks, just yards from the door, seeking asylum in the United States. Once inside, they would be processed, and then most likely held in an immigration detention center, waiting on their application.
Until Sunday.
On Sunday, the people Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-58192766175284155612018-06-09T20:33:00.001-05:002018-06-09T20:33:22.164-05:00159/365
We started a new thing this spring- a Bible study for boys' in our neighborhood. It seemed like the logical thing to do when the boys who gathered to go to our mid-week cell group study could no longer fit in our car. So, using the same study on Jonah, we started a new group at our house. Not wanting to miss any aspect of the weekly event, we promised that yes, we would have coffee. And we Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-87431771175290184962018-06-08T15:39:00.000-05:002018-06-08T15:39:01.823-05:00157/365
"Here comes the sun..."
I walk out of my little house, already sweaty in just the getting ready, already sweaty before stepping outside. The morning sun, though only a couple hours after beginning it's rise, already shines hot and bright, moving slowly and steady overhead. In the gleam of daylight, I see the dust covering the tile floor and tables on our front porch, covering the leaves of theKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-41790348956240827012018-03-10T11:32:00.000-06:002018-03-10T11:32:36.832-06:0064/365
Daylight fades to evening dusk and lights create shadows in unexpected places. Dust covers nearly every surface, and so too do bright papers with letters. We play a seeking game, searching out letters in a mixed up pile, another step in learning to decipher the code. Upstairs, bigger kids begin to construct light circuits and another group sits around the table, ready to create images of light Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-15766483684056914502018-03-07T22:29:00.002-06:002018-03-07T22:29:47.745-06:0063/365
The good news is that finally, finally, I won a round of lotería. The bad news is that we were playing at the good-bye party for my buddy and office mate so I found my excitement a bit tempered.
And then my husband accidentally gave away my prize.
Alas. Some days are like that.
Does anyone else remember days as good news, bad news? I often wonder, am I the only one who perpetually Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7977759119254228837.post-22962528569816461402018-03-06T12:35:00.001-06:002018-03-06T12:35:53.888-06:0062/365
Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike. - John Muir, The Yosemite (1912)
(an afternoon spent walking through Bentsen State Park)Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00740116516335226210noreply@blogger.com0