how long does it take
to get from here to there
how long does it take
for promises to come true
how long must we wait
in that mysterious
in-between
where nothing seems
to be happening
where we often
lose our faith
where we fear
we've lost our way
where the lines
are all blurry
where we give up
and give in
can we make it
to the other side
or will we always
struggle in the middle
forever falling short
of the promised land
We all have hopes and dreams, plans and goals that we are trying to bring to life. When our progress seems invisible, it’s easy to get discouraged, and so hard to keep going.
I have found that when I am stuck in the messy middle of a muddled life, the way out always is to just go through it. Go through the hard parts, and eventually you will get to the other side. Know that you are not alone.
Sometimes we have to keep doing the right thing for days, weeks, even months, before we see encouraging results. Don’t give up!
May you find strength for your journey and pockets of joy to sustain you along the way.
I celebrate my birthday in September each year, which coincides with the changing of the seasons, the passage of time.
This September, I celebrated 60 years of life on this earth.
Sixty years is not extraordinary, yet I am amazed that I don’t FEEL like I’m 60 years old. In my mind, I’m still that young girl making her way through life, day by day, still looking for the good, still searching for what I’m supposed to be doing, still trying to figure out the meaning of life.
Maybe you feel this way too. Maybe you are approaching 30, or 45, or 50 trips around the sun. Birthdays, like seasons, continually mark the passage of time.
Maybe you feel like time is running out. This is an illusion. Time continues, life goes on. We all wish time could stop. It is my hope for all of us to learn to appreciate each moment, wherever we are, and to embrace the richness of each new season.
Every year adds
wisdom
wrinkles
adventures
challenges
beginnings
endings
wins
losses
friendship
blessings
love overflowing
Every day is a chance
to start fresh
to try again
to keep going
to begin noticing
to bless someone
to share laughter
to truly give
to really live
to love with all your heart
With the passage of time:
May your moments create a beautiful life. May your years reflect your beautiful soul.
My Life Is A Prayer is a beautifully written poetic novel portraying a sensitive young introvert trying to find her place in life. In this coming-of-age narrative, Catherine grapples with her childhood fears, her desire to fit in, and her longing to unravel life’s mysteries. As she moves into young adulthood, Catherine struggles through the challenges of not only “making a living” but also of creating a meaningful life. This is the story of her search for God in the hard questions and in deeply felt fears and anxieties. It is a story of faith, and a life of prayer.
The book is written in verse, which means each chapter is a short poem. It is a quick read. The story is captivating but not complicated, simple yet profound.
My Life Is A Prayer is a very relatable story. You will experience triumph, heartache, joy, and beauty, beginning with Catherine’s earliest days and continuing through her working days, until the breathtaking finale. Allow yourself the pleasure of savoring this wonderfully uplifting lyrical memoir. This is a book that will live in your heart forever.
When my sisters and I were little, my cousin Cindy took us to the movie theater to see Snow White. It was the first time we ever went to the “show” and we loved it.
When I started kindergarten I was scared to ride the school bus, but my cousin Cindy was in high school and she let me sit with her on the bus, surrounded by her friends. I rode with the “big girls” and I wasn’t scared anymore.
She had a guinea pig and a big fluffy cat, and her bed was covered with so many stuffed animals, I don’t know where she slept. She was a dancer with beautiful costumes, and I wanted to be a ballerina too.
She grew up and moved away, and I didn’t see her much after that. I grew up too. I grew tall, and I passed her in height, but I still looked up to my big cousin. She called me “little one” and I loved that name – It made me feel so loved.
I will always remember her this way, with her long hair and her ballet shoes, my beautiful cousin who now dances with the angels in the presence of glory. I know I will see her again one day, and if I’m scared, I know she’ll save me a seat on the bus so I won’t have to ride alone.
Do you look for signs of spring? In south Louisiana, the pecan tree is always the last tree to sprout buds. We like to take that as a sure sign that winter has ended, no more freezing temps, it is now safe to plant spring vegetables. Legend has it, when the pecan leaves come out, winter is finally over. But sometimes winter doesn’t give up without a fight – so we hold our breath and root for the pecan tree, rejoicing at the first sign of green, celebrating the strength of spring.
The pecan leaves have sprouted,
always the last to emerge.
Legend foretells this is the sign of
spring, the promise that winter is over.
That was before climate change:
all bets are off now.
This morning a powerful north wind
blew, chilling the air
threatening to tear off the tender
tufts of green
shaking the limbs of the steadfast
pecan tree
yet the baby leaves held,
clutching momma's fingers
and momma wouldn't let go;
the green remained
evidence of the strength of spring
in the face of power
proof that winter must finally
blow away
Ah, yes, autumn in Acadiana. I love the beauty of nature, especially during the change of seasons in my home state of Louisiana.
Ancient oaks and shady pecan groves produce falling treasures of acorns and pecans.
Childhood memories abound, spirits soar, and hope is harvested like cotton.
Welcome to the season of Fall in the heart of Acadiana!
Leaves are not the only
things that Fall
in Acadiana
temperatures fall
in the nighttime
humidity levels fall
in the daytime
our weather see-saws
up and down
skies are clear, then rain falls
hot to cool, and maybe
a few hours of cold
if we are lucky
acorns and pecans
grace the ground
crops fall at harvest
corn and sugar cane
soybeans and sweet potatoes
darkness falls early
footsteps fall softly
feathers fall from the sky
as flocks pass through
on their southerly exodus
time falls swiftly
swirling us across the calendar
falling into winter
falling toward the end
of another year
and we fall to our knees
as the world falls apart
see-sawing again
from sorrow to joy
working to repair what we can
seeking beauty and love
remembering the fallen
honoring the circle of life
always believing
it is falling into place
always receiving
a covering of grace
I painted “Color My World” last summer, and the message is still true today. Thank God for beauty, and color, and diversity!
Another thing I know to be true: sometimes lament and celebration walk hand in hand. Joy and sorrow overlap. Beauty grows from the soil of pain.
Our Savior knew pain and sorrow. He paid a heavy price to break chains and set us free. Let this not go unnoticed. A resurrected life is offered here and now.
Let us stand with our brothers and sisters and lament with them. Let us recognize all who come from a long line of suffering, and who still suffer today.
Let us celebrate the freedom we are all offered, beginning with God’s gift of free will. Let us remember the slow manifestation of that freedom through the centuries.
We are interconnected in this garden of life. Let us raise the flag of hope, and lower our eyes in prayer. Lord, let us see the beauty of all the colors in your garden. Send your healing rain and let us feel your love. Let no flower be overlooked.
"...whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things. Philippians 4:8 NIV
I realize, after eating a breakfast of pancakes on the patio, then eating soup outside for lunch, and having done nothing, really, all day so far, I realized I don’t want to go shopping. Not for shoes for my outfit. Not for a curtain rod for my living room window. Not for groceries, even though Ricky needs a jar of jam for his peanut butter sandwiches. I don’t want to leave home.
The wind is fresh, the day is warm, the clouds are beautiful. I see birds gliding. I hear a lawn mower droning. The kids a couple of yards down are playing. It smells of earth and grass and flowers out here. The birds sing and rest, sing and rest. Brownie is sunbathing. I don’t want to leave this scene. I like feeling unrushed. A bee hovers over a white clover flower. The tree leaves rustle with each breath of the wind. I want to feel like I am on vacation. I want to sit and think and dream.
I want to feel whatever it is I need to feel on this Mother’s Day weekend. It’s been five years since my Mom died and I still can’t look at her picture without upsetting the balance of my inner world. It still hurts to post a Mother’s Day photo of me and my Mom on Facebook. Others miss her too. It’s a little easier to think of that now – at first it was too much. I couldn’t hold their pain in my thoughts on top of my own loss. This was asking too much of me. I’m better now.
The neighbor’s dog races across his yard, a red frisbee in his mouth. The little kids scream and squeal with delight. The lawn mower is quiet now; a job well done is left in its wake. Brownie moves to the shade, barks a little, then settles. I am in no hurry to leave this space. Nature’s soothing balm works its way into the soft places in my soul. In my mind, I pack my duties and responsibilities, by should-haves and would-haves, the pressures and demands of normal living. I pack them in a cardboard box, tape it shut, and mark it with a black Sharpie: DO NOT OPEN until Monday.
Thus, I permit myself to enjoy Mother’s Day weekend. I allow myself a guilt-free rest. I, too, am a mother, and this day gives honor to me as well, even though I don’t feel honorable. Which mother among us ever feels worthy? We never know if we are doing a good-enough job of raising our children. But it is nice to have someone else cook for us, or give us flowers, or say the words, “I love you, Mom.” Our kids may not know it, but we are only human, making mistakes, not knowing how to do this, and always needing to hear those words of affirmation. I love you, Mom. So here’s to another Mother’s Day weekend. May we all hear those words from someone we love, even though it may only come through a birdsong.
