blocks

I have writers block. It's not nearly as fun as lincoln logs, legos or those wooden shapes. In fact, it's not a toy at all.

In my attempt to try and make something bigger of my love of writing, I found some contests in which to enter my work. Bravado took hold and I envisioned lovingly cradling the works of my mind in my hands, before handing them off to be critiqued. No sooner had I confidently envisioned this than a masked bandit came by and swiped my brain. I watched helplessly as he stuffed my thoughts into a plastic sack then ran off into the night. For a time, I felt defeated. And now, much hand wringing later, I find myself ready to seek out this crafty pillager and take back what it is mine.

Help!

for the sufferer

I watch you suffer.

Oh, how it hurts.

I am angry. I want to fight back against the injustice you face. The battle. The journey. The weight of the load. The tears you've cried.

And while you trust God's sovereignty, you press on, press in, fighting tirelessly for hope.

Please know I pray for you.

Take heart.

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty."

Psalms 91:1



morning

From my padded deck chair I can see morning. Not the morning I usually see, the bars and gates of city living made alive by the bright faces of new blooms in my garden and sweet warbles of birds. I'm thankful for those birds, they escort my mind to a place far above the rumble of cars and mufflerless motorcycles, the growly engines of the occasional early mower, the incessant clamor of barking dogs. From my little city lot I  take what I can get, but I still dream of morning.

Today is different, special. Today I see morning in all its splendor. And I rejoice.

Morning.That glorious time when night and day make a mysterious exchange. When the covering of blackness give way and darkness is swallowed up in light. Slowly the sky melts. The world awakes, the little beings that inhabit the sheer beauty of God's creation rub the sleep from their eyes and go about the work of the day. They begin with song, praises echoing forth from their small throats in harmony with the others who share this space. A melodious chorus with an occasional solo. They usher in beauty with beauty.

Fresh faced beams hover behind the edge of view sending forth a canopy that illuminates the blue above. A row of pinetrees line the lake, framing the inland sea as if it were a mirror, the water as smooth as glass. The tips of the pinetrees glow, as if lit by fire, the branches below still dark. Dew drops have bathed all within reach, as if to clean yesterday from the surface of the world in preparation for today. A chipmunk runs past, stopping to observe the stranger in his midst. The call of the loons echo hauntingly.

I open my Bible and read Psalms, resonating with the prose of David's heart. Surrounded by God's handiwork, I experience the words more deeply. His majesty echoes from the words in my lap and the world I see at the same wondrous time.

From my chair on the porch I watch the day unfold. Hours pass and I'm unsure of whether I should keep my eyes open or close them and simply listen to the world awaken. I am captured by this beauty and simplicity in amazement of the grand design and execution. The Artist paints a masterpiece.

Unable to wait a moment longer light breaks forth, the sun lifts its head above the treeline and fills the world with gold. The ground, the air are colored in a honeyed hue. The sunkissed landscape shimmers And I catch my breath, the beauty of the past hours a prelude to this glory.

In the suns presence, the fragrance of the morning changes. The thick, damp air dries in the sun like laundry on the line. In its place, the pure aroma of light.

The chill of night packs its bags and heads home as the warmth of the sun fills the day. I center my face in its glow and feel its kiss, my feet still chilly in the shade of the porch post. The day will be warm, I can feel it.

Slowly emerging from its hiding place, morning has thrown open the shutters and welcomed the day. Day has come and with it the sound of feet padding down the hall, a chainsaw in the distance, the coffeemaker steaming out a rich, dark brew, sleepy eyed conversations. The chorus of nature bursts forth, as if the music it performs gave a crescendo. Wind whispers through the pines. Acorns pop and snap as they fall from the trees and land on the ground below.

Day. The performance has ended, yet just begun.

"Lord, you have been our Dwelling place in all generations.

 Before the mountains were born, 

or You gave birth to the earth and the world,

even from everlasting to everlasting,

You are God."

Psalm 90:1-2

smart guy

Evie wasn't so sure she wanted to visit Paul Bunyan-land.

"Paul Bunyan is a really big man who knows your name," Daddy explained,"should we go there?"
"No," she said.
"It will be so fun," Daddy said, "Why don't you want to go?"
"Because he's a really smart guy," she said.

So we told her all about the rides and tractors and animals and she, despite still feeling timid about Paul, the smart guy, decided she might like to try it out. So, we did.

"Hello EEEvie," said Paul.

She froze, her eyes wide with terror. 

Remember these?

I got excited over a trash can.

I took a picture.

My traveling companions laughed at me.

I'm a bit quite sentimental and I'm okay with that.

Paul and his lady friend.

Prehended by a Peli-can

Do you ever wonder how the dinosaurs became extinct?

Paul Bunyan took care of them.

Thanks, Paul.

Pretty girl in the schoolhouse mirror.

Remember these slides?

Shiny metal. Tall. No sides. Dangerous.

Heh.

Our motley crew.

(Complete with 3 year-old who has a new

love of creative expressions)

View from the top

The rollercoaster to beat all.

Literally.

So painful.