Learning To Live As A Child

spencer with butterfly on handI sat in the middle of a field of clover yesterday, cold spring wind chilling my bones while my insides were warmed by discovery.
I sat in the middle of a playground yesterday, not as a mother or grandmother, but as a new friend to small children.

And I walked through the backdoor of childhood and saw the world through the portal of wonder. It was as if I were a little Alice for an hour or two. But you don’t get there in the blink or the nod or the snap you might think.

No it is a slower dance than even I thought it would be.

Re-entering the world of little ones. You walk gently into sacred territory with respect and eyes wide open to wonder.

And it looks like  preparing for a make believe wedding with clover bridesmaids bouquets. And it smells like dirt balls thrown high to the sky. They are snow or dirt or sand. You speak it and they are changed.It feels like ice-cold metal chain. You hold the chain while you push the swing and if its March and Spring is late, the metal is cold as blocks of ice on your trembling flesh.

When I pulled the white down comforter up over my memories of the day and tucked myself into bed I remembered. I remembered what I learned from being a child, the stirring of emotions my backdoor entrance into childhood kept me awake. I longed to hold on to the day that I knew could not be repeated. Not one of them can.
I can still smell the clover, sweet and fresh. I lifted the flower to my noise over and over this day trying to recall if I remembered this fragrance.

But it smelled new to me. As so much of the day felt new. How had I forgotten the smell of clover or had I never recorded it in my youth.

Had I let my self grow so far away from the mystery and wonder of seeing the world as an Alice?

I asked my new friend who is five or so to see if she could find a four leaf clover. And then I waited for her return. Sweet excitement in her face, she brought back a hand filled with new discovery. That a four leaf clover can be a three leaf clover plus one borrowed leaf from another. That life can be viewed and seen in so many different ways. We limit ourselves as adults. I looked down at the three leaf clover plus the ripped piece from another, sacrificed to total four. Amazed by her creativity, I long to see the world with saucer-shaped eyes. To see it slant in all its mysteries.

At her invitation into child’s play, I entered into a game of hide and seek and found so much more than my friend hiding behind a tree trunk. I re-discovered play and release of the bondage of adult sensibilities, if just for a few minutes. Life is full through the eyes of a child. We watched dogs race and return a thrown ball to their human. And we found squirrels’ nests nestled in the bare tree limbs. And in these frozen moments on a cold spring day, I stared at a squirrel scratch an itch behind his ear. And helped my friend see two messy nests. Where have I been looking if not up. How have I missed so much.

And in throwing a baseball back and forth with her three year little brother, I observed meekness, gentleness, and forgiveness when the ball hit hard on her back. I learned in an afternoon in the park what I needed to tuck into my soul for a refresher course. I needed remediation on play.

I needed to count and run and watch a made up disco dance. And say good job. My soul was hungry for looking at art drawn in the sand with a stick. My soul needed  to watch a paper plate soar as a frisbee on a windy day. My imagination lay dormant more than I knew. Until it was cracked open a bit at the hand of a wildly creative girl and her brother.

Discovery came through the eyes of a child, on a cold day, in a park in Charleston. When the world of an adult was frozen, thankfully in time. And a dormant imagination began to  wake up to the new world that waits all around.

I was Alice for a day because of  friendship and a playdate. One boy and one girl helped me see the world through the eyes of a child. And I am learning to live as a child again.

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Joining Jen and Heather.

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Encouragement – A Letter In The Sky

mcvl hot and cold sky sunset

The heavens write letters of encouragement too. Just stand under it and read the bold strokes of orange, flame yellows against a canvas grey.

And a seeking soul finds solace under the canopy of God’s intimate signature of glory. Hope strokes, brush strokes, holy caligraphy for a sinking, seeking wounded weary woman. Man.

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Because the Great I Am is the great sky writer. Of grace notes in the sky. Set before the ones He loves. The downcast and the sin-weary. The misunderstood and missing out.

On the days of the mid-stride missteps in the sojourner’s journey, rest under cover  of the God sky. Take cover. Take encouragement.
There is more than a silver lining though there is that. There are glory streaks of brilliant screaming God colors.

Open the notes penned in the sky with pinks. Grey’s moment is waning and God’s people are the hope clingers under the envelope of blue. Looking up and looking long into his heavenly canvas gives life from the Creator of yours, of mine.

Desperate down-trodden sister sojourner, take the God letters to heart. Read them slow, these skyward treasures for the wet and weary. The radiant Son of Man is come and will come again.

Rest under the knowing.

sunset over jeremy creek mcvl

Walk into the waiting calm with strength, fresh strength from the mighty storm. Hold fast and long to torrential grace which washed you in the reigning down. Press into the new day, strong and strengthened one. Let storms renew. Shake off despair, let the rain wash you, refresh you, renew you, protected Child of God.

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Stand facing strong while you read the letters He writes for His still-earth-bound children. Face all with a knowing that He walks and shields. Loves and guides. Watches out over the weary.

Plant sure your feet while the winds whip, they will. He shoulders the blistering winds of worry and guards the tired soul. Seek Him as the sky turns to indigo, lavender and plum. He writes his love notes, pens them beautiful. Pens them with love. Pens them for you.

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Open the grace and rest under His Heavens, weary ones.

Look into His eyes and into His skies.

Take, receive, hold fast to the encouragement He gives.

It is grace. Take the manna from the skies, God-sent.

Take grace. And give thanks.

Until you rest your weary soul under the black of night with a head filled with prayer and a heart filled with praise.

And shout your loud amens.

Blue Moon HMM

 For you are not alone.

sunset over jeremy creek

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joining heather at the E of O for just write
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shrimp boat sunsets HM

Finding Joy In Wash, Rinse, Repeat

The repetition of the beautiful can feel more like repetition of the ordinary.

The let dog in let dog out days of in and out of the washer and dryer she adds a load, changes it out, and tries to mix it up.

She sees the ordinary but strains for the extraordinary of the cycles of life. The make the bed and wash a load and empty, re- load the machines that wash the things that are dirty hums its dull hum.

And the check the mail and fluff the pillows and call a friend and go to the store and wipe the counters again drills go on and on and on.

But what if she sees a nuance of change and a strain of the beautiful in the repetition of the everyday.

And what if she began to lace the duties of life and living with prayer and praise and songs.

Taking the sheets of music to the bed as she folds the sheets. And raises the window to hear the birds as they serenade the cycles of living. The daily fringed with songs of grace.

And what if the breathing of the home she holds dear begins to sound like the breathing of the family that will walk in soon in need of nurture, both of the soul and of the body.

So the wiping of the counters begins to look like a prelude to an act of love, of service.

And the mundane looks like a view through a kaleidoscope when she shifts the view, turns it slant to see, really see what’s hidden behind the veil of the daily.

And “viewing life through a lense of grace” breaks out anew from its cocoon of hiding and is reborn.

She sees the grace of life. She sees the joy in wash, rinse, repeat.

She reframes her ordinary with extravagant love and wipes the counter with a cloth of dripping wet grace, in the living, grace in the everyday.

And He does make all things new. In the moments of the everyday everyday.

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So she turns it on its head until the blood rushes in and shakes and spins it round and round. And when the day gets turned right side up it’s flush with living, flush with the flow of blood all through the living breathing it.

The life has rushed back in and the life flows strong and bold through the day.

The turning, flipping bring shades of new, shades of the life-blood show, shining through. And it blushes with crimson, tinges of life-red.

The stale looks fresh, the old looks re-born and the mundane places are fired-up with the electric new.

She views life through a lense of grace.

And all the things on life’s pendulum, swing to the beat of a recalibrated heart.

And life fills her home again. And the beat goes on and on and on.

Dancing to the songs of grace.

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Joining Jen and Heather today.

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Blogology and Those Darn Tired Turns of Phrase


What about a little backing up and regrouping.

I believe if I were you I’d want to know the why’s and the how-come’s behind the space. The one right here which often irks the grammar police, I feel certain. Because I was born in 1959 I was taught there are two spaces after a period and last week I learned there is only one. And that looked like a run on sentence to some.

What were you thinking? Sort of a blogology or blogging credo or mantra or something.

I love that you are here and it blesses my heart, literally not like the wonderful southern  cliche which I use far too often. But it truly does.

So if you are here and when you are here this is a bit of the “what was I thinking”.

I do love that you are here and that we can walk shoulder to shoulder through this life, or parts of it at least.  And I almost said “walk through this journey” together. Darn those cliches. It is that though truly so until I find a fresher more unique to me and my voice way to say it,  I’ll  just say journey.  And then I’ll ask you to extend a bit of grace for the lack of originality.

I do love this community of ya’ll. You know who you are. I don’t want to label you or define you or put you in a box or slap a term on you. Because if you are here, until you tell me why I guess I don’t know. Really. For certain. But I am grateful. And every time you speak through the comment box I can feel and smell and hear your presence. And I am thankful that my spam catcher catches some CRAZY stuff. I mean ya’ll should read it sometime. But I digress. You all teach me, encourage me, and inspire me.

Please know that when I am here and you are there, my deep longing of the soul is to type, say, write, and present that which is honest, real, true, and authentic . Thank you for allowing me to share pieces and parts of my story as I feel lead and at the leading of the Spirit.You are gracious and you seem to be great listeners.At least from my vantage point.

Thank you for remembering that each post is just a snapshot in time, a piece of a larger part. In order to see and hear more completely, well, you may need to follow and read more of the parts and pieces. That is to say, one post does not make the man. Okay, I am a woman which you undoubtedly know by now. And when I update my “About Me” on this blog, I will add that though cliches seem to annoy me, I seem to have more than a few popping up. Got to fix that.

Which leads me to telling you how I would like to offer you fresh posts. Unique perspectives. And a mix of how I see with what we all see as a community of Christ followers. In our shared humaneness we share so much, but as individuals it will always be mad crazy deeply unique to me.  I can truly only really write honestly and passionately from my insides. From my own knower that was formed from my heart, soul, mind and spirit. So what I write, probably should look like my story. That you read and that you come is still amazing. Simply beyond amazing. But don’t we all hunger for the creative. And don’t we long for Art. And don’t we seek excellence and not mediocre. Please know I try to bring it and to lean on and into Him.Thank you for grace when you see stale. And when you see less than. I offer my apologies, truly.

Sometimes simple is  strongest and the straightest way to real. I love to write. But man oh man do I love God. You all should hear some of the things he’s brought me through. So I want to point to Him and honor Him with my writing. If I don’t, you all can help. Keep me accountable. That would be lovely. And I thank Him  for the privilege of writing and the honor of your eyes being here.

And because I just wrote that last point, you know the one above, I need to heed my own advice and keep this simple. Therefore, I will stop. But I do reserve the right to write a Part 2 of this Blogology post. You’ve seen some posts have both a part one and part two. If you haven’t you can search the archives. There is at least one there. Or rather here.

Did you think because there were shrimp boats in the photograph I was going to make a reference to this blog being a voyage? Well I am not. But I am going to thank my friend Harriett for her wonderful photograph. And I do try to mark my own photography with “wynnegraceappears” in the corner. At least I have for several months. But today and other days, my dear dear friend Harriett has given her gift of photography freely and generously for its use on this blog. Thank you Harriett. You’ll see some more from her.She’s got talent. And she loves the Lord in a big way. I will ask her permission to tell some of her story. It will bless your socks off. (mixing metaphors is so much fun).

Thank you for viewing life through this lense of grace. And if you were counting the number of times I used truly…..it was probably more than once. And you can practice wild grace even now for that.

And if you thought I was going to thank you for your comments before you even left one, you were right.If you come back tomorrow I will probably start more than one sentence with And. Got Grace? (Is that a cliche yet?)

Linking with Heather and Jen. And I am grateful for their hospitality. Thank you ladies.