I Want to Know My Own Strength, April 18

I want to know my own strength. Perhaps
it is very small. But I want to know it.
God, I want to feel Your flames lick around
my living. I want to burn on Your altar. 

Dayenu, April 16

Dayenu, it would have sufficed us. If You had not killed the first-born.
Lord, help me understand Your holiness and Your justice. Surely the one who gave the heart the ability to love and forgive, the capacity for generosity and compassion, will be more tenderly and more powerfully merciful than we can comprehend. 

Blackberry Jam, April 14

Yesterday our eucharist was three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
made with P's last jar of blackberry jam from the farm.
Mom started crying when P gave it to her. 

Carrying Feathers, April 12

Help me carry my friends
as a bird carries its feathers.

Traveling Mercies, April 12

What a rich life I lead.
Traveling, painting, reading, eating (mostly) well, seeing beautiful things and enjoying lovely people. Ugh, but I'm full of fears.
God, remind me that You've got this. That You're not about to drop me, like I dropped my pants yesterday when I thought I felt a big spider dart along my leg. It was so convincing, a quick ticklish movement. But it was a knot of loose thread in the inner leg that slid down my thigh as I was reading. 

My Farmhouse, April 6

Oh Lord. Please give me Your peace.
I'm not ready for the cogs of travel to chew me up just yet. I am too easily fractured by worry and anxiety. And I want to know how to claim Your order and harmony and shalom over every aspect of my life, of this day. Not that it will be perfect, but that I will be closer to You in it, fully Yours, fully used by You for Your purposes. Make use of my feeble life, to bring people to Jesus.

Quench my thirst in Yourself, only. Keep me dissatisfied with anything less than you. And help me pray, and care well for what You've given me, and LOVE well.
I still picture that farmhouse, that little, white-walled, sun-filled, peaceful, flourishing place, as the epitome of home-peace. You are my farmhouse. You are every person in it, and my chores, my lamb, and the strength in my arms.
Dress me in muslin. Kiss me. 

Skazka Morosko, April 2

"Are you cold?"

It is better in life to accept and be content than rant and complain about your lot. The treasures of the patient, meek, forbearing will not melt.
Lord, help us to be honest, especially with You, about our feelings - but prevent us from falling into grumbling and bitterness.

Even You admitted, "I thirst."