When Spring Comes Reluctantly


I’ve been working against a deadline.

On Monday I will have completed another year of life. 42 of them so far. Another circle around the sun. Another cycle of life. Another end. Another beginning.

It has not been lost on me that the day falls immediately after Easter this year. It did the same 11 years ago when I was cradling a week-old baby in Sunday services. How fresh a resurrection message falls on days like these.

Emerging from Darkness. New Life.  A Birth Day.

In preparation for such a day – especially against the backdrop of Lent – I could not help but think on the need for some dying in my life. On the giving up. The letting go.

What needed to die to make room for new life?
What was I not willing to carry forward into my 43rd year?
Where was my surrender less than everything?

I often do my best work against a deadline.

But the frost on budding trees tells me this. Sometimes Spring comes reluctantly.

It comes in fits and spurts. It comes in fully blooming pear trees outside the tightly closed windows where the furnace has turned back on. It comes in pollen-covered sidewalks traversed by coat-covered people.

Spring does not bow to a deadline. Awakening comes in its own time.

I, too, am coming reluctantly to the turning of a page. As glorious is the spring, the winter lingers still.

There is more dying to be done.

There will be celebration over the coming days. Family. Easter. Birthday.
There will be warm days and deep laughter and lots and lots of life.
There will be Spring.

But deep at the roots – where the darkness never eases – it is the breaking  open that lives on still.

There is no deadline on that.

For When Hearts are United Through Hands (Word of The Week)

psalm-168He was across the room when the call for prayer was heard. I instinctively and quickly make may way to him. Because my soul knows where my body needs to be. Next to him. Because that’s what we do.

We bow our heads and link our fingers.

Somewhere in 16 years of marriage, we started this approach to prayer. A physical reaching for each other as a spiritual positioning before God in our requests. United as one. An intertwining of a cord of three strands. Him. Me. Jesus.

And there are few other times when I feel as sure of the path we’ve vowed to take together than I do in those moments. Regardless of the circumstances, I have learned.

Him. Me. Jesus. We’ve got this.

This single, simple act adds mortar to our bricks and reinforces our foundation. One Amen at a time. Because far too many things — and sometimes even we, ourselves — chip away at our union. man-and-woman-holding-hands

It’s the reason we keep returning to this joining of our fingers and our faith.

In fact, it’s one of the reasons I pray at all.

Because sometimes a prayer is nothing more than a reaching. A remembering that God’s hand is there. That He longs to weave his digits with mine and walk with me.

Because when I place my requests, my heart, and future in His hands, I find myself confident in His care.

I keep my eyes always on the Lord.
    With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken. (Psalm 16:8)

And when my hand is in His, I stand united with His sovereign plan.

His hand will strengthen me. His hand will lead me home.

Hand in Hand, I already am.


I return each Sabbath for a fresh Word of the Week. For the God-breathed pages to come alive in a phrase or two on which to spend a 7-day feast. To meditate upon. To use as a jumping off point for whatever other words God would have me hear during the week. I would love for you to join the Word of the Week (WOW) discussion by adding your selected verse to the comments … or reflections on any scripture reading. 

Linking with Unforced Rhythms — a wonderful community of writers who gather each Monday to share with you HERE.


Because Dusk & Dawn can Look a lot Alike (Five Minute Friday-“Begin”)

new-dawn-of-the-dead-lake-at-756348When does the dawn begin? At the first hint of light on the horizon? When the sun itself peeks over the hill? And, if so, does the dawn come later on cloudy morns?

Or maybe — just maybe — the dawn starts at dusk. When the circle of the earth promises the sun, though invisible for the time — will come back full.

Dawn begins in the dark.

We prefer a more clear definition.

Drawing a delineation in the sand to mark something new. This. This right here and now is the beginning. Day One. The starting line.


But I don’t think it works that way.

Because an action starts with an intent.
An intent with a question.
A question with a curiosity.
A curiosity with a whisper.

Whispers don’t announce themselves with the glory of a sunrise.

But they are the first breeze of a new season blowing in.

The beginning.


 Join the 5-minute movement at 5-Minute Friday. A new word each week. Set your timer for 5 minutes and just write. No stopping. No editing. Only 5 minutes. Just my style!

Is There Anybody?

raised-hands-2If there’s anybody here
who’s found Him faithful
Anybody here
who knows He’s able
Say Amen

And if there’s anybody here
who’s seen His power
Anybody here
brought through the fire
Say Amen

Anybody here
found joy in the middle of sorrow
Peace in the storm, hope for tomorrow
And seen it time and time again
Then just Say AMEN! 

(Say Amen, by Finding Favour)

Please use the comments section below to add your Amen!


Linking up with #ThreeWordWednesday friends. Link on the photo below to read more.


Where Beauty is Born (Five Minute Friday-“Bloom”)

sproutIt’s the sprout that has my attention. A sudden sign of life where none existed yesterday. So much unseen effort to reach the surface.

Death. Decay. Being cracked wide open. Seeking a source to temper the thirst. Growing down and deep. Darkness.

Breaking through the dirt — the weightiness of all the Earth — to view its first light.

And once the light has been reached, it will continue to grow. Taller and deeper simultaneously.

The bloom will come in time. It will be celebrated and photographed and honored and lauded as true beauty.

And rightly it will be so.

But the bloom is born below the surface. Where all real beauty begins.


 Join the 5-minute movement at 5-Minute Friday. A new word each week. Set your timer for 5 minutes and just write. No stopping. No editing. Only 5 minutes. Just my style!

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