Grainy weekend goodness. He makes my world a better place.
Our five, our tribe, our delight.
Cut blooms are my love language. And so I look at these each day and every time they gets me. The simplicity, the color, the life. Reminds me to breathe somehow. I love what they are right now, the trio, all together having found their home against our kitchen window the last few days...a sunshine bunch of yellow from Costco from the hubs after his errand run for me, a more delicate gathering from the grocery store my mother works at handed to me for Mother's Day from my dad, and then a few sprigs cut by a sister friend who shared fresh from her yard, fresh from her heart. Let us breathe. Let us walk in love today.
Sun is up.
Spent the sunshine day digging through thrift store treasures, dipping Burger King fries in ketchup, licking the first ice cream cone I've had in who knows how many years and hugging my dearest grandpa who just smiled at my children who just couldn't keep their squirmy bottoms on the fancy, silk-seated chairs...it was simply one of those days that when we folded our hands for bedtime prayers, our words were only full of thanks for all the unforeseen, unexpected tucked each morning into the day ahead for us to discover as gifts.
One year ago- an image of my grandma, my mother and my baby girl, taken by my oldest girl. Just a few of the hard-working, faithful, oh so great, endlessly gracious and humble women that have been hand picked and so beautifully placed into my life for me to learn from and grow with. Strong women. May we know them, raise them, be them.
We read of a woman who scattered seeds this morning, how she took a deep breath, throwing handfuls of brown not knowing where they'd land. She wandered the hillside and back country roads, misunderstood and traveling alone, head down but spirit lifted, she stepped out anyway and sowed. Then when the spring came, oh did the color came. Explosions of blue and purple and rose-colored life sprang from dirt, grandeur grown from just her brave, quiet steps. So what if our words are seeds, our songs not just songs but anthems? What if our calling is not to earth shaking shouts but simply to a unfurling of fists, gently, tenderly, faithfully allowing our palms to be opened, soft fingers loose, seeds falling through spaces of hope, trust and surrender into the world for the great Gardener to bring to the fullest beauty.
Light slowly giving way to the shadows and grain, each day granting its kiss to our story.
Five months ago I was with these girls, watched them giggle and hold each other, facing fear and pain and heartache with hope unhindered. It would be easy to call it happenstance that our paths crossed in the timeline it did, but my weeping heart knows better because I am forever changed. Days after I took this picture, beautiful Alayna's smile left us behind. And now this morning, sweet Paislee joined Jesus. They are healed now but we are crushed. I can't even begin to fathom the suffocating grief of all those who loved them. There no words. All I can do is pray for a comfort not of this world. Be near, God. Be near.
Is it that their friendship is unfolding, petals opening tender and wide in unveiled beauty, or is it that it's growing, gently nurtured, thick roots extending deep into soil of story? Either way, it brings light to my humbled soul.