When Love sits on the ground. . .

Her face is tender in the warm lampglow. And even though I know her back is tired my roommate sits on the floor bent low.

Over my feet.

Steaming in the pan of water they are unlocking my tightness - all the way to my brain. Gently she lifts and dries them. A trust - for few people can touch my ticklish feet.

Cradling my foot against her knee she presses away the tension of lifeweight they carried all day. My toes nearly poking her neck. She doesn't mind. Her face is tilted gracefully - artist-like. As if she were playing a soulful cello line rather then restoring the soles of my feet.

And I, sitting up in this soft chair, am humbled deep by her nightly gift. The gift of humility. . . of communion. And in her hands, in her eyes - the resemblance of Christ.

Love lavished with no demand for returns lifts us into its purest realm.

For I do not yet have the strength to soak and massage her feet. And none of the disciples even thought to offer to rinse the Saviors tired, dirty feet after Love sat on the ground tending to their souls.

Endless and eternal lesson to learn!

I feel that I am only ever beginning - with tentative childish toes at edge of this vastness. My inner pride shrinking as the universe expanding makes room for love. And I am the "least of these" for someone in this intricate circle. A gift that is sometimes hard to accept. But it brings release and that same sense of smallness that comes from seeing a long ways off.

Beautiful. This unassuming way my God restores heart vision.

By Love bending low.

Life

I am home.

Those are three wonderful words! Contented sigh . . .

It is Sabbath. And I have spent a leisurely morning reading long and slow from my bible and other inspirational selections. Soaking up the luxuries of quiet peace in my own nest. Grateful for His words and your words - all so gracious and undeserved.

To be - here.

What a grace! A gift completely over my head!

I have no legal right to exist. My life does not have to be. Nearly wasn't - Dr. Johnson said so, and all the other doctors agreed. He fully credit's the success of my medical case to prayer and the healing power of God. Miraculous.

A miracle is a beautiful reason to trust. But to trust means to be okay with not having answers, and still believing when no miracle comes. And what if I had died that cold Sabbath morning when gentle hands transferred my limp and bleeding body to the ICU bed? Would you still trust? If no miracle came?

I only know there was peace for me when the world grew fuzzy and begin to fade. A gentle surprise - for no one knows, and certainly I didn't guess, when last moments stretch what one could feel. And there was no tightness, no bitterness, no despair.

Simply surprising trust that God knew and that I could rest. One would think that the strongest trust is born of long experience but my 23 years are very short and my trust fails daily. I can not trace it's origin. And so I learn that even trust itself is a gift. A grace for the moment when needed. Always close for the receiving.

To think that God, the God of all this vastness we live in, would care - would offer me life! This wild yet tenuous adventure. . . And you, dear friend are holding the same. Do you know it? Do you breath it's fullness? Do you trust?

And when the pleaded for miracle doesn't come will we still believe? For desire contrasted in that darkness is the place of purest trust and brightest hope. A greater miracle then the prayer or the answer in and of themselves.

What does it mean to be handed life?

Moments to treasure

The smiley face catapillar

Karen

Pretending to be flamingos - a technique for acclimating to frigid waters :)

Horses: one of the definitions of happiness :)

Petals of Praise

Surgery Scheduled

Surgery has been scheduled for the 10th of May.

Thank you for your continued prayers.

Cathedrals in time

A thousand steps of praise.
A thousand cathedrals in time.
A thousand moments lived.

In this counting of His gifts I have discovered new dimensions in the architecture of the present. It has been the beautiful beginning of a journey - of learning to have grateful eyes. Grateful eyes and a trusting heart not only in the sunbeams of spring but even in the midst of devastation, grief, and loss. To give thanks in all things. . .

Here are pieces of my journey:

640 Apple blossoms outside the kitchen window
641 Cardinals kissing in the rain
679 Resolving chord progressions
685 Packages on the porch
705 Flames of dainty columbine
707 A protected cove
712 Wood smoke scent
720 Kerosene lamp light
759 Organized drawers
791 Letters from the Philippines
805 Familiar faces in the hospital
829 Nest-full of baby blue birds
830 True humility
838 Sisters creek-walking
841 Walking behind the falls
857 Wild roses
860 Sunlight gold through green
875 Worship at Kristin's house
877 Ms. Trudy's love and prayers
878 Hindi mothers
887 My hymnal
896 Sweet joy
907 Peppers of many colors
916 Saralyn comfort
919 Verses of hope
921 Storm preparation
924 Strength of trees in the wind
946 Awareness of humanness
947 Colors after a storm
949 Butterflies dancing
953 Polite drivers when traffic lights are out
954 Pumpkin bread baking
963 Worries turned into prayers
971 My paramedic neighbor
972 All those who worked 24 hour shifts through the storm
974 Search and rescue teams
977 Last day events
980 A Louisiana water thrush
982 Wearing moccasins together
991 Talking to Shama on the phone
998 Stories of deliverance
999 Peace in the night
1000 This moment