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Today was one of those days made perfect by the tiny small acts that happened throughout it. Acts that have warmed my soul and reminded of the holiness of the day.

A day that really didn’t start out so well. Our youngest lab girl woke me up at 3:30 with that dreaded sound that all pet owners or kidlet parent recognizes – regurgitation breaths. Getting untangled from the the bedding in the middle of the night is not one of the fastest things I do anymore – but I managed, and Koay managed to hold it in until I got her out the door. The old dog didn’t even get up. She just rolled on her back, thinking she might get a belly rub when I returned.

Needless to say, I was not in the mood to rub anyone’s belly, and Ryndi just sighed as she rolled back over. Luckily, Koay did what needed to be done fairly quickly and was back in the door within a few minutes wanting her belly rubbed. Again, I was not amused. I crawled into bed and hoped I could fall back to sleep.

I did – – – eventually.

The last time I glanced up at the time reflected on the ceiling, an hour had already crawled towards dawn, and I was yawning my way through one more Bible verse (which is what I do when I can’t sleep). Obviously, my plans on rising early to do some mulch moving during the coolest time of our 90-degree-really-really-humid-days got lost in catching up on some much needed 💤 .

Early morning chores followed. Walk the dogs, sweat. Pull some weeds, sweat a little more. Throw the ball and listen to panting dogs hunting for it – sweat. Sit on the patio swing while glancing through the paper and – you guessed it – sweat. By that time, it was time to get cleaned up and go over to the daughter’s for breakfast and help the oldest Grand paint her room – or should I say – help her parents paint the room as she added a couple of brush strokes here and there.

In any case, it was there – standing in her room – in between playing with clay, talking about “Hatchables” and the habitats we had made from clay for them, tossing a “Wubble” up and down the stairs, and those few swipes of a brush in her bedroom, we found ourselves pretty much alone for a few minutes.

We were talking about the color of her room – a very striking turquoise – when she curled under my arm and wrapped her arms around me. We kept talking and laughing for one of those moments which you know is searing itself as a treasure chest memory into your heart. The almost 11-year-old, leaning into me just like she used to do when she was tiny – just like her mama used to do when she was tiny.

My heart was blessed beyond measure with such a gift.

The ultimate gifts of any day are not usually fancy. Usually they come so quickly that we don’t even notice. They don’t usually cost money. They can be as simple as having a butterfly land on your finger at the end of the day as it flutters its wings and probes your skin for its salty moisture. The gift of a Lab girl that wiggles under the inversion board as you stretch your back, so she can rub her head against your head just to show how special she thinks you are in her life. A Father who sends His blessings in so many ways if we only take time to notice.

It was a good day – a perfect day – a day to praise God and remember why we should keep the Sabbath and make it holy.

“Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work: But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates: For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: wherefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it.”

~Ex 20:8-11



A sonnet for St. Benedict

“…Centre in Christ and enter in his peace…”

Malcolm Guite


On July the 11th the Church celebrates the feast of St. Benedict of Nursia, the gentle founder of the Benedictine order and by extension the father of Monasticism. A moderate and modest man, he would have been astonished to learn that his ‘simple school for prayer’, his ‘modest rule for beginners’ led to the foundation of communities which kept the Christian flame alight through dark times, preserved not only Christian faith, scripture, and culture,but also the best of Classical Pagan learning and culture, fed the poor, transformed societies, promoted learning and scholarship, and today provides solace, grounding, perspective and retreat not only to monks and nuns but to millions of lay people around the world.
Here is my sonnet for Benedict, drawing largely on phrases from the Rule, I dedicate it to the sisters at Turvey Abbey. It appears in my second book with Canterbury Press, The Singing…

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Mama Mick used to say, “When the sh** hits the fan, get off your lazy butt and move.”

I used to just think this was one of her hilarious ways to get people to laugh. She loved to make people laugh – – especially the boys I brought home on a date. Truth be told, they all kept in touch with her long after we broke up. Mostly, because she could tell a joke and make them feel like they were part of her inner circle as they laughed and laughed at her jokes. While I blushed and blushed and cringed at the jokes she would tell (riske doesn’t begin to describe her jokes).

But – the twist on the adage in the first paragraph was a little different. As I have gotten older, I’ve seen the wisdom behind the picture she painted with her words.

“My mama done tol’ me, when I was in pigtails,
My mama done tol’ me,”🎵

So in June, I got off my lazy butt (moved the fan because who wants a stinky fan anyway?) and did a bunch of things that I’ve just thought about over the past few years including losing weight… oh – boy I get to buy clothes before school starts… because all my shorts and tops are hangin’ where they ain’t supposed to hang.

“A Whooee, A Whooee…”🎵

✔️– Been indulging my artistic side. Writing on some old things that have been sitting on the shelf for more years than I want to think. Written some new poetry. Did some doodling. Created clay sculptures with the Grands. Plucked garden flowers and arranged them where I could look at them often. Pulled out the markers and decorated my new journal.

“Now the rain’s a-fallin’,
hear the train’s a-callin,

✔️– Been working the body. Hulled almost another dump truck load of mulch. (The only reason it isn’t done is……“It’s too darn hot, it’s too darn hot…🎵) Planted a new tree in our rocky, hard, clay dirt (Can you tell I’m whinin’ while I am praying over and watching carefully this new tree since it is late, late, late in Southern season to be plantin’ a tree). Walked the dogs 4-5 times a day and spent lots of time chasing ball (me included when I throw it in the woods) – losing ball (especially in the woods) – arguing over who gets the ball – and panting like crazy with big goofy smiles on all our faces when we come inside. In this heat, none of us stay outside long – not even the cat who generally hates coming in before it is time to eat.

(My mama done tol’ me)
A-whooee-ah-whooee ol’ clickety-clack’s a-echoin’ back th’ blues in the night.”🎵

✔️– Painted my bedroom with the help of daughter and family. Then – best of all, created a window seat in this “new” bedroom, hung lace curtains, added a small bookshelf full of my favorite authors/poets, and turned to my dogs and solitary cat said – “It is good”.

The window seat is so small and cozy that I started to wonder if I would really use it or just look at it. Then I looked outside. One of those mysterious summer showers that often seem to come out of nowhere was just starting. I found myself sitting. Sitting in the window seat. Curled up with my teddy bear – my Sefer (Book of Life) by my side, watching the rain and wondering at the “great and mighty things” that He shows me day after day after day.

“Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and shew thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not.”~Jer 33:3🙏

I may sing the “blues in the night” at times. Tissue boxes empty as the cat pats my face with her paw. The girls curl at my feet or behind my chair, so I can reach down and pet them when they cry with me. But in the morning — aaaahhh yes — in the morning, the dawn rises – Our Father wakes me up and I hear Him whisper: 
“Choose JOY! 
For this is the day that I have made just for you.
And surely – goodness and mercy shall follow you all day long – every step – and with every breath – – – -with you – – – –
You are my child – created in my image – beloved of the King.”

Can’t get much better than that. After all my Mama Mick done tol’ me long ago:
“A Whooee da whooee, A Whooee da whooee”

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Why is the first corn of the season always, always, ALWAYS the best corn of the season? NC corn is on the byways and highways just in time for the 4th of July…….and me? After not eating much for the past few weeks, I am enjoying every bite that is just a wee bit salted and dripping in butter. Which by the way, drips on to whatever bit of clothing I am wearing at the time.

June was a long, long, LONG month. One book closed and right there – by my side – is another. Part of me wants to pick it up. Another part of me, isn’t quite ready to put the effort into even picking it up quite yet. It is a different kind of book. 
Not new. 
Tattered cover. 
A few ripped and stained pages. 
Maybe even a page or two missing. 
It has been stuffed at the very back of my bookshelf for 40 years and is the one that I haven’t even thought about in ever so long – let alone pick it up……..
but there is this tickle. 
A tickle way back of my eyes that keeps pointing at it. 
A tickle that reminds me that I liked reading it long ago. 
A tickle that is hinting that it just may be time to pick it up again and discover whatever wisdom might lie beneath the words it holds.

But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”~1 Cor 2:9

It is hot in NC this week. Humid, steamy, muggy, yukky hot. My sinuses feel swollen beyond the confines of my normal sized head. So – out come the oils. Inversion board coming up. But sometimes – I’ve found the best thing is to go out and just sweat.

Early in the morning or late, late in the afternoon – – – right after the deepest part of the night has passed or right as twilight begins at night – – – I meander outside with the lab girls. We do our neighborhood walk, and then I get to work and try to avoid the mosquitoes. I have found that I actually love moving wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of mulch around my small home. The gardens are somewhat dry since we haven’t had a serious rain in a couple weeks, but they are still flourishing. Tomatoes, lettuce, herbs, flowers. God is definitely good, and I see His hand everywhere in the yard with every drop of sweat that falls.

During the heat of the day, if I’m not writing or watching Grands, I head to the bedroom and begin to paint the walls. The knees creak a little more than when I did this a few years back, but I have found that atmosphere is vital when starting a new book and well worth the noisy grunts from various body parts. Best of all is asking the daughter and SIL for help where the walls go much higher than my old knees want to climb.

God is so good.

The new book is still sitting rights beside me. Sometimes I feel like it is inside of me, just waiting to be opened. And because I have this strange curiosity that often gets me into trouble, I peek inside that dusty ol’ book. The Light sparkles around the words that are imprinted there. My eyes are blinded since they are too bright to read for now. Quickly, I slam that book shut once again. I think I will wait a little longer. I know that in time,The Holy Spirit will stop with the tickles and slam me upside the head when the time is exactly right. He just likes to forewarn me – – peak my curiosity – – just like he has for the past couple decades of my life. I don’t really like the “Gibbs slap”, but it does get His point across succinctly.

“We must let God’s WORD become the words of our story.”~Lysa Terkeurst

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When you are an English teacher and a librarian off and on for most of your life, you tend to collect books. For 25 years at my OH home, half our living room was covered by a wall of bookshelves, and that doesn’t take in account all the individual rooms that had their own bookshelves or niches where books collected.

“When I have a little money, I buy books; and if I have any left, I buy food and clothes.” – Erasmus

Most of those books stayed in OH. I gave them to friends. I left some to be found in strange places. I donated some to missions. I left some to the schools I taught at over the years. But there were some…
There some precious ones…
Some very precious ones…
That even though pages were ripped – or stained with whatever yukkies that had accumulated throughout the years – or with loose pages pulling away from the long-dried-out glue (in the case of paperbacks) or broken stitches in the hard covers – – –
There were some that had to make the journey to the new Covenant properties in NC.

“I can open doors and take from the shelves
All the books I’ve longed to hold.” ~”One of These Moments”/Yentl

The amazing part – it is the oldest, well-thumbed through, broken books that are the ones that I treasure the most. They have that smell that only old books have. They cradled my head when I fell asleep on them. They were there to read on the darkest of nights or in the sunniest days or as I waited for whatever thing was next on my agenda. Their pages were turned by a silly teenager who thought she knew everything – a young woman on the cusp of discovery – a more mature seeker of wisdom – an older woman still seeking and believing. And the images that those books imprinted on me at various points in my life still live deep within me.

For me, the hardest thing of all is when that strong binding – the thing that held the book together for decades – that put up with me laying it face down and open – or bending it backwards as I tried to copied something out of it – or holding to close to my chest as if I could imprint the images by osmosis, finally breaks in that one crucial place, and all of its precious leafy pages flutter to the floor much like rocky ground of the woods in late fall.

Even as I try to gather the pages in order, I know that I can’t put it back together. Not this time. The tape that I have used for many years, just doesn’t have that kind of strength anymore. The pages with all their imagery and characters, laughter and tears, babies and joys, memories and adventures are no longer held by what I once thought was an indestructible cover. The strong thread that ran through each page, tying the adventures of the story to the binding has been severed.

And I cry and cry and cry.

I know I can buy a replacement book. These days, I know I can probably find an old copy of that very same book via the internet. But it won’t be “that” book. It won’t be the one that carried me through the years. It won’t be the one that helped me find dreams to dream. I won’t be the one taught me so many things and added to my wisdom. It won’t be the same…

“A voice deep inside
Is getting stronger
I can’t keep it quiet any longer
No matter what happens
It can’t be the same anymore
I promise it won’t be the same


I have a really hard time with the ending of a great book. A book full of the dust of someone’s imagination that became a living, breathing creation. A book that kept me reading way too long into the night. A book that woke me up just to read one more chapter before school. A book that molded characters so well that I couldn’t wait to see what happened in their lives or what wisdom they had to share with me. A book whose ending made me want to cry, because I would now watch those same characters that I had come to love, ride off in the sunset far away from me.

“Bye bye love.
Bye bye happiness; hello loneliness.
I think I’m-a gonna cry-y”

Movies – not so much. The time I invest in a movie or TV show is minimal, and half the time – I’m only partially paying attention. Even as a kid, I would read books rather than watch the TV show that was right in front of me. The smell of the paper. The dusty covers. The characters I loved. The sad closing of the covers when it ended.

Either way…endings – are – – well – – – endings – – – – – in life as well as books. The memory of the characters remain, and if it was a really special book, where I learned a lot from them, the strong emotion I attached to them will remain long after I carefully close the cover and the dust settles.  I will see their faces in my mind.  I will hold the gifts they brought me close.  And – at times – I will wish the book was still in my hands.

“Dust doesn’t’ have to signify the end. Dust is often what must be present for the new to begin.”~Lysa Terkeurst.

Even if endings are not my favorite thing, there are good things about closing the cover of a book that final time. Such as, I get to look for a new book to read. Yea. Double yea!Triple yea!! After all, half of the fun of finding a new book is the “seeking” journey. I get to meet new characters. Dream with them. Learn from them. Love them.

Endings – even when they have broken into tiny, tiny pieces of dust that you would think can never be anything meaningful again – always bring new beginnings. Add a little water and you get clay. Add a very talented artisan who knows how to work out the impurities by whittling a little here, a little there, pounding it against a hard surface over and over, molding it, shaping it until He is satisfied with His new creation. Add a puff of air and the ending that was – becomes a new beginning that is. After all…

“In the beginning…The Lord God formed a man from the dust of the earth and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”~Gen 2:7

Best of all, at the end of my favorite book in the world, is the ending that keeps resonating within me no matter how many times I have carefully closed its cover. Seven words. One sentence.  One promise that I cling to when I feel as if I have crumbled into a dusty pile in the middle of my path. One powerful promise that He sings in my heart over and over and over. A promise that He gathers all those tiny shards from the dust of an ending into his nail scarred hands and shouts over and over to those who listen:

“Behold, I am making all things new.”~Rev 21:5

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I haven’t written much lately. Well – that’s not exactly true. I have been writing – – – a lot actually. I just haven’t posted anything to my blog or on FB. The Thoughtsong that flows into the blog or FB has been quiet. So quiet that I wondered if she would sing again. So in corresponding fashion – after all – I have learned over these many years to be silent when the Thoughtsong is not singing in my heart. But tonight, the song began again.

“Declare among the nations: “The LORD reigns!”
The world is firmly established; it cannot be moved…”~Ps 96:10a

The promises of Our Father, written way before I entered the chaos of Terra, are amazing. When His promises live in people of prayer, they are even more amazing. I think that is why Thoughtsong began singing once again. Reciting promise after promise and having prayer warriors reciting promise after promise continue to be all the manna one needs to survive. Thoughtsong is singing once again, and I am beyond thankful to hear her song welling up inside of me.

In the past month, I’ve moved over 100+ wheelbarrow loads of mulch and stone. Watched my plants grow – despite weather that has been all over the charts – and produce fruit (can’t wait for the any-day-now-first tomato). Walked the dogs and thrown a stick more times than I can count – but my elbow knows – in both arms. Groaned in the Holy Spirit until there were no more tears and slept in exhaustion. Waited – not so patiently – as the new song began to form.

“For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.”~Rm 15:4

Prayer as been the wind under my wings. 

A couple days back another prayer warrior dropped off a book for me, It’s Not Supposed To Be This Way  by Lysa Terkeurst. I read the first chapter and cried. I wrote and I wrote about things that God knew already, but these words were for me. I was the one that needed to see – to hear – needed to sing for myself. God hears and listens when we stand on His promises – just not always in the way we expect.

“Sing to the LORD a new song;
sing to the LORD, all the earth.”~Ps 96:1

As I continue to step forward on this new God path, I continue to find the path in the darkness with each of His promises lighting my stumbling, tiny baby steps (I am not courageous enough to take giant steps nor secure enough to be confident). New paths are challenging – hard to navigate. But every day, I become stronger. My clothes hang a little more loosely. My muscles a little sturdier. And thankfully at the end of long days, my kitty curls in my lap while one dog snores behind my chair and the other cuts farts under my feet.

Life – while not how I thought it should be – is how HE thinks it should be, and I gulp another big breath as I prepare to step forward tomorrow. Maybe…even…double gulp …a giant step tomorrow.

“Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and shew thee great and ||mighty things, which thou knowest not..”~Jer 33:3 

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While there are “blue skies up above”, and I’m thinkin’ that not quite “everyone’s in love” with the heat in NC, it has definitely been a lazy river type of day – especially as the sinus infection seems to slowly begin its meandering journey away from me. Storms never come in singularity for me. Some I talk about and some – I just don’t. Depends on what I hear the Captain speak to my fingers.

Spent most of the day just fidgeting. Making physical copies of Pop Kaufman and Daddy Mike for the Memorial Day display in our home – – Reading some more of Kline’s “Piece of the World” – – Brushing the lab girls as I try to keep some of their hair outside instead of inside clumps floating here – – War room time as I pray, copy Bible verses, and wonder for the umpteenth million time WHY? WHAT possible lesson am I missing in this trifecta of storms? You’d think at 68 it would be a little easier navigating this dinghy – –

When I came inside from trying to move a few plants and failing miserably (since it is too hot and I still just want to curl into a ball and sleep), a few of Mom and Dad’s favorite songs “just happened” to be playing on my list – “Up a Lazy River”, “It Had To Be You”, “Summertime”, “My Foolish Heart”, “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered”, “Dancing Cheek-to-Cheek” and suddenly, I’m 4 or 5 again, watching from the sofa as they dance around the living room or listening at the top of a dark stairway for the signals that their stormy argument is almost over – – and somehow – – those signals always came as both of them would wander up the steep stair to tuck me back into bed and sing “Oh, You Beautiful Doll” until I fall asleep.

“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”~Matt 6:33

So today, I guess I’m still looking for signals of the storm’s passing, waiting for the melodies that always soar around me when I reach deep for that “peace that passeth all understanding” which always follow the storms’ path. I just have to keep taking baby steps forward. Listen for His voice. Stand on His WORD. And – positively KNOW that while He is just being quiet in my noisy boat, He has already charted the course and controls the winds and seas with His WORDS.

It’s funny.  I really love physical storms.  I love watching the dark clouds approach.  The way the thunder rumbles not only around the house but deep into my belly.  Oooooo – the smell of rain as it begins to hit the leaves far away, drawing closer and closer until it hits my nose. Not to mention – the wind that blows out all the staleness and dirt that clutters the air.  Lightening that crackles my soul with becomes a small light in the darkness.

All of it.  Powerful. Magical. Miraculous.

Daddy used to say it was just one of GOD’s ways of reminding all us who really is in charge of creation.  I still remember coming down a different set of stairs when a storm had awakened me, on July 4th 50 years ago.  Mom was still asleep in their bed , but Dad was standing by the window watching the storm of a lifetime hit our small town. He heard me and beckoned me forward to him.  We stood together, watching the lightening, listening to the thunder and rain while my earthly father shared his heart of wisdom with me.  Once again, He prayed with me and for me.  I miss that.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”~Ps 90:12

So I am numbering my days. Seeking those signals that the storms of a lifetime are once again leaving my area. Excited to hear the new melodies that will enfold me in their warmth and dry my tears. For Our Father, His Son, and the Holy Spirit are good…very good…at steering floundering dinghys – even ones with lots of holes in them.  Grace patches are amazing.  

All the time –

They are good.   


Well – after a long week of sinus infection, plans disrupted and sleeping away the most perfect days of the whole spring while wrapped in a winter blanket – I gave in and called the doctor to get meds. Unbelievably, I’m still awake at 9 P.M. for the first time since Monday.

Errrr…I get so mad at myself when I think if I go one more day – – – I will beat a fever back into the netherlands from which it came.

“Everything is permissible for me,” but not everything is beneficial.”~Cor 6:12a

Praising GOD when you can barely keep your eyes open, shaking in 70 degree weather despite wearing two sweatshirts and a blanket, while dealing with a head that feels like it is about to implode or explode (take your pick) is not beneficial, YET – where there is turmoil, there are many blessings as well. Ask Job. You just have to work a little to see them.

“Whether you eat therefore or drink, or if you do anything, you shall do everything for the glory of God.”~1 Cor 10:31

So now that I am trying to catch up on some probiotic eating to counter the meds and tolerate food again, I actually had time to just sit on the chaise lounge that my parents had long ago, read a book that my kidlets sent me for Mother’s Day and enjoy just being still. 
No words. 
No music. 
Just long communion with the One who knows and loves me best and a small sparrow nesting in a planter over my head.

And just like 50+ years ago when I stretched out on this same chaise lounge under the skies He had created in a yard of my memory, I fell asleep. 
Kitty curled beside me. 
Book spread open where it had fallen on my chest. 
The labs keeping watch over their flocks. 
The words of My LORD coloring the last fragments of an intangible dream and echoing in my head as I returned to world.

“Come after me…for I make all things new, Brynie.” [2 Pt/Rev]

I am still His child –

And the next time –

Will someone please remind me to go to the doctor as soon as this craziness starts? 

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The first Mayflower to appear today was arriving at school and finding the gym full of kids, parents and “Feed the Hungry” ministry leaders. Organized chaos might be too mild of a term. Three schools working together to compile thousands of meals. Kids learning skills they don’t usually learn in school. Parents working side-by-side with teachers and their kids. 
Screaming (whenever a new box was completed).

Its joyous aroma permeated every inch of the school today – not to mention the flowers sitting on my desk from a wonderful principal in honor of “Teacher’s Week”

“Thou art good, and doest good.”~Ps119:68

His flowers usually come in bouquets, and – sure enough – the second bloom awaited me at home. All my gardens are starting into their second year of growth and have overdone themselves in their beauty and aromas. Last year’s planting of wisteria is already starting to cover the top of the portico and surprised me with blooms. I really didn’t expect them for a couple more years – especially since they were fresh cuttings last summer. Then there are Mama Mick’s pink hedge roses reaching for the sky with their blooms. Daddy Mike’s red rose that burst into full array of color while I was gone today.

I took a deep breath, sat on my swing and gave thanks.

“The upright shall dwell in Your presence.”~Ps 140:13

I almost missed the next flower. When my NYC daughter called, I was outside sitting on the swing, brushing the dogs and having silly kitty try to eat some kind of critter under my feet. (I tried to save it, but not sure I succeeded). After coming in and checking my phone, I smiled and breathed in another sweet aroma of His blessing in my life. 
Long conversation. 
A few tears (as always). 
Laughter. (as always) 
Joy. (as always).

This time when I went back outside, I hauled four loads of mulch. Laughed as the dogs kept grabbing the bigger sticks out of the pile. Then I looked up and saw the UPS driver pulling into my driveway.

“You are worthy, O LORD, to receive glory and honor and power.”~Rev 4:11

The final bloom of the day for my Mayflower bouquet had arrived. It was like opening one of those Christmas/birthday presents that never seemed to end. Wrapped in cardboard, paper, bubblewrap, plastic, I carefully, pulled and cut through each level hoping I wouldn’t damage whatever was hidden from sight.

It was indeed a precious flower. A reassurance of a Father who sees and hears when we call on Him with our deepest faith, tears, love and fears. A piece of art emerged. Art created by daughter-of-another-mother. A daughter of my heart who made me cry tonight – once again.

GOD is good. All the time.

The art now hangs in my bedroom where I can see it – the last thing at night as I read my last Bible verse, and the first thing in the morning as I say my first “Baruch Hashem, Adonai”. Our Father’s bouquets are always the best. Full of bittersweet aromas and beauty sometimes created by the hands of the people I love.

Seasons of testing are never fun. They are the times we hate to think about let alone live them out on this temporal world. Yet, through it all – GOD is good. All the time. And – His Mayflower bouquets are beyond compare.

“But the mercy of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting…” Ps 103:17

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