Lighting a Thanksgiving Candle

This morning's warm rain felt like a call to pause for a bit before tomorrow night's fireworks. It might be a good time to light a candle or two of Thanksgiving for lessons learned in 2021 and the many graces that have brought us here.

Of the blessings for which I am most grateful right now, high on the list is Glenn's patience.

As I obsessed over assignments in my master's program this year, Glenn read my papers, praised my work, and worked hard to help me put the tasks in perspective without ever undercutting their value.

I am grateful, too, for the opportunity I've had to return to Hartsville where we've been able to reconnect with dear friends.

It has also been good to be working for a mission-driven organization. It does my heart good to spend time with people who are committed to a cause that is bigger than any of us and to be doing work that feels like making progress.

Of the personal lessons that seem most clear, is the realization that while we may have an influence on the path we walk, our influence is but one of many. I believe the resilience I seek to develop is a product of faith, hope, and love--my soul's responses to profound mysteries beyond my comprehension.

Wishing you and yours every good thing in 2022. Celebrate well.

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Good morning, moonless sky

The long rainy evening gone, dawn was welcomed by a warm winter wind, noisy and interesting. Dakota slept alone on the couch last night. She'd spent the early evening pacing soaking wet with one parent after the other insistent on action. Glenn and I were trying to protect the carpets and the chances of getting a full night's sleep. She just wanted to stay inside until the storm passed. Eventually though -- after two or three frantic trips back into the house to be toweled off and wait for another try -- Dakota did her business and we all settled in for the night. So, after a cup of coffee, when she and I went out this morning, I think we were both relieved that the rain had passed. In its place, though, the leaves stayed busy and made themselves heard as the moonless sky, giving way to dawn, revealed a few pale stars and harmless puffy clouds against a still gray sky. We made our way to the corner as usual, but our path had changed. More than a couple of garbage...

Waking Well

My days start early, and I hope they always will. Few things feel as good to me as the time between sleeping and doing. A morning cup of coffee in a quiet house, the chance to take Dakota out for her first walk, a moment or two to stretch my shoulders and my ankles and my heart. May your day and mine be as blessed as when the first rays of sunshine plant gleaming prisms in the dewy grass. May your first whispered thoughts be kind, your first steps quiet, your first actions graceful. After that, may your rising energy join with the songbirds in praise of something much bigger than any of us.

Southern Whispers

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