shadowwonder

Summer’s here. I’m for that. Got my rubber sandals. Got my straw hat. Drinking cold [root] beer. J I’m just glad that it’s here. Summer’s here. That suits me fine. It may rain today, but I don’t mind. It’s my favorite time of the year, and I’m glad that it’s here. --James Taylor The last few days have found me taking lots of deep breaths.   It’s summer.   Finally!    I love how looking ahead doesn’t reveal much more than days that stretch out like the horizon in the Texas panhandle.    For me, these first, fresh days of early summer are the most delicious time of the year. And, being partly a planner, I’m finding myself starting mental lists of various projects I’d like to accomplish.    Housecleaning, gardening, reading, games . . . . . If I started planning now, I could get oh-so-so much done.   I mean, 90 days is a long time, right? But I really have to be careful about that, since my well-developed tendency to overschedule can end up

It all started as an accident.   An accident that somehow became an opportunity I’d been quietly hoping for. Let me explain: Weekends often find me making a quick visit to gypsymama.com, home of Five Minute Fridays and brainchild of Lisa-Jo Baker.   I simply love her weekly invitation to creativity, and I so admire her willingness to create a place for women to be heard and to encourage each another in our writing.   If you scroll through my blog, you’ll notice that more than a handful of posts have been inspired by her amazing one-word topics. On this particular December morning, I went to the site, read the prompt, set the timer, and began typing.   Nothing particularly new. But when the 5 minutes were up, I realized I’d put words to some fears I didn’t even know had been lurking in my mind.   [ Sidebar :   During graduate school, my thesis director had the irritating habit of “encouraging” me with this mantra:   “Writing is an act of discovery

Sometimes  the holy ground  crumbles right where I’m standing. Questions come.   Answers elude. Outcomes aren’t what I’d hoped for, prayed for, worked for. Relationships strain, tempers flare, voices’ volume rises. Hot tears sear cheeks. Prayers for peace, for provision, for patience, for presence go unanswered. Face and heart harden. The  needle rips across the vinyl, stops the soundtrack, does its damage. Now, soul-deep disappointment settles in like a storm, brooding.