The Givers


The Givers

That shade of green on the cover
Like face paint green
In October, late
(Oh how I hate the wanna-be witches’ then)
Haunting, like so many books penned for children
Intended for the young ones
But, wait, it is we who are grown, who are or
Were the audience, all along
The souls who hunger for the messages of these books

That Giving Tree green
Cat calls from the shelf and says read me again and again
Soak up the
Metaphor on every page
Like communion bread dipped into crumb-filled wine

Memories are fickle
Holey like wormwood

Memory takes me to the story of the tree
And the boy
And the man
And the taking stirs me in ghostly ways

The paper-puncher holes in my own flawed memory
Fail to recall
Did the boy say a word
Was it only the tree
Oh what a story he would tell
Of his all-about-me-self
Taking the tree down to a stump

As green as that storybook cover
So sad is my soul for the boy, the man
I see myself in that boy
And want to be like the tree

And so I write


Join me for my new labor of love, a creative project for subscribers only. Follow my journey into letter writing  here, at “a quiet place for words”. I am fond of the letter format and would love to have you join me there. (Letters sent to subscribers in-box weekly) It is quieter there, away from the interwebs.

peace and grace,


Bathing In Generosity


Today I bathe in a showering of yesterday’s grace and generosity.

Now,  I bask in the delight of what was and is, lathering in foamy joy.

The sun cycled up and down and brought abundance, pooling puddling oceans of overflowing grace.

A soul can feel saturated from the outpouring of wave on wave of the unexpected,

Opportunity and mercy shown at every turn.

A soul can feel saturated, saved from dry bones, ash and parched in need of filling.

Weary in need of water for the soul.

Many days, they came and went. Many days have come and gone.

Countless days and weeks it seems

Since a soul has sensed such saturation, of generosity, hope, poured out.

Stuck on repeat, deep grooves , the needle stayed on the same joyous song, all day long

A song of generous gifting of doors open, grace shown, and gifts unfurled along a day

The march of the weary traveller steps more lightly lit by light of strangers

Touched by fellow pilgrims on the dusty path

A heart is marked

And vows to pass it on,

To make an artful offering of pouring it out along the way along a day,

To pour a drop on dry parched souls.

For today I bathe in a showering of yesterday.


one word button


Thank you to Melanie at Only A Breath dot com for designing my button for my one word 365, Art. I am grateful. She is a generous giver of her gifts.

A Grateful Hand

May we walk together,
all together as a bold one
into a land
of extravagant generosity…
time &
words &
prayer &
we unfurl from the white-knuckled grip of the insatiable I and me.

Linking in community today with the folks at Still Saturday. Thank you Sandy.

Opening the door for you my friends, may we always open the door for one another in a community of His love.

And holding it open for a long while, as you walk into the wonderful wonders of your week’s end.