For Tom

Sniveling.

Defiant.

Confused.

Demanding.

"Where is the justice!"

Lost and Alone.

Why... and What If...

In time - lots of time - from disorder the hint of form, edges connect, encircle a slowly focusing message. An answer? A reason?

In the unfolding of daily life in decades, the puzzle of truth exposes its crucial final pieces.

There it is!

The obvious answer, obvious only after time searching, information revealed, evaluation, and mercy.

"I rescued you."

Rescued from...

Rescued to...

"See what from. See what to."

Contrition! Knees bend, hands fold, heart breaks, then rejoices. Thank you!

"Thank you for rescuing me. I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know how bad it was, couldn't comprehend the mire of falsity, the depth of evil. You loved me before I loved you. You chose me though I angrily rebelled in misunderstanding. You protected me even as I squirmed and scratched. You placed me in freedom where You could be found and known and eventually loved.  I clearly see from what, to where."

One Savior, but twice saved.

Amazing Grace.

An Artful Day

While waiting for news of a loved one's surgery - a brain tumor - I find myself trying to remain calm, to go about my day as planned, with prayerfulness at the forefront of my mind.

It will do no good to sit and fret, after all.

My husband is very much looking forward to enjoying the Italian Roast Beef I promised to cook him today. How easy it is to plop it into the crock pot with some onions and seasonings! Done.


The quiet studio beckons. I answer the call, slipping into its coolness, opening the two windows to gardens outside and abundant fresh air. At my table my hand slides a leather daily journal before me along with my fountain pen. I write. And I write. And I write.

Another journal, hardback with an embossed leather cover, seems to vibrate that there is an entry it needs on its pages, an entry about my father, a memory. I write. And I write. And I write.

Then, I sob.

Memories bring back sights, smells, sounds, but what brings up the sobbing is that I can hear my dad's voice and see his kind green eyes. Vivid memories, mine. I loved him. So much. I still do.

Love doesn't die with people. It changes into something extra beautiful, precious.

Tears brushed away, the garden calls. There's the procrastinated job of tidying up the huge mass of now-finished tiger lilies. Okay, this is the moment; I dive in.

Dried leaves, dead stems clipped away.

"There, that's better."

After wheelbarrowing yard debris to its place in the backyard, I sit calmly under the giant silver maples on the bench I created for my mother, a memorial to her in a shady, lovely place surrounded by lavender, begonias, and a pink rhododendron, now finished blooming. I pray for my loved one's surgery, for the doctor's hands and wisdom, for the family. Deep sighs. I think I've never fully appreciated my life and health until this point in my life when I know elderliness is fast approaching.

"Thank you, Lord, for how good I feel today. Thank you for the good health I've always had. Thank you for whatever you will bring my way because I know all things work together for good, because I love You and am called according to Your purpose. You are the Best."

This feels like a very artful day.

Creativity of different types.

Appreciation.

Observance.

Study.

Work.

Beauty.

People.

Remembrance.

Prayer.

Love.

God.

Yes, a very artful day.

So far.