Saturday, January 24, 2015


True north - Beardy's Reserve, taken by my Randy in fall 2014

I have a friend who has come often in these past months with words for me.
She said, with the first book, that she was not one who came with casseroles but with words.
And so the words have come, in books, in calendars, in a retreat guide (which could be used all at once, or in small bits and pieces).

Then, another note, from another friend, about retreats.

And in the quiet of this Saturday morning,
I sit on my chair, with my books around me,
pen in hand,
coffee cradled,
and retreat with thoughts of what has been, and what lies ahead.

Trying to give things names,
trying to make sense of the landscape,
and the things that lie covered in a dense fog.

How do you name things that you can only partially see?
How do you navigate where you can only sometimes catch a glimpse of the path?

learning to travel slowly
   to use other senses than my sight
   to trust what is said by those who see the fog but are able to also see above and beyond it
learning to trust that something is being recreated, remade, while I cannot see

not a season for running, or marathons
stopping often at the deep wells of grace
a season for listening
for holding my breath
for watching

much treasure is found when we walk slowly