April 24th

On Easter Sunday I kept waking up early, thinking of how the women left for the tomb before dawn, conscious of the bird song and the warmth of Keith sleeping beside me and of the quiet communion of the inner place.


"It seems strange that I should be with You like this when I should be meditating on Your death," I confessed to Jesus. "But I can't bear to think of it."


He only smiled and didn't mind that I put my ear to His heart, to listen to it beating.


"After all, the angels are very close to You," I said, thinking of how they had ministered to Jesus in Gethsemane and were there again in the garden tomb.


Not so close as you, He said.


It was a rainy morning and so I didn't get the chance to watch the sunrise, but I stood at the back door with Merissa, listening to the birds. It's all green out there now.


We left for church a half hour early, in order to practice the baptism. There were trumpets blaring from the balcony where the choir sings and Merissa looked at me with wide eyes. She was entering nap time territory with no prospect for a nap in the near future. Keith and I felt much apprehension on this account.


The practice went well, though I found it hard to concentrate on anything, lost in the words. I had felt anxiety about many different prospects- a watery poop running up the back of Merissa's flowered and flounced dress or her wailing with abandon throughout the entire service, but I was sunk down too deep in some internal place for the anxiety to impact me.


As I have no ability to control the things I am anxious about, I have to leave them in the hands of God and merely do the one thing that is for me to do in that moment, and then to do the next thing when that comes- doing each thing like a secret language of love for God- and if there is nothing to do, to rest and to love Him in rest. This has been my practice of late.


Sometimes I forget this practice, but when I remember, I just take it up again. Sometimes I feel wearied by this practice and then I remember it's not my strength and faithfulness I'm counting on, and it's not about feeling some emotion or feeling some sense of His presence, it's about the simple faith that God is present and offering Him the exact thing that I am doing as an act of love.


As the time for the service drew near, we waited in the lobby to take our part in the procession, informed by a black robed lady that she was our vesper and would tell us where to take our place. Merissa flirted charmingly over my shoulder with some of the ladies of the choir.


People streamed in and chairs had to be brought at last minute and set up at the back and sides of the church. I kept stepping to the side as my husband and various other volunteers brought the chairs through the crowd.


Eventually the organ struck up some thunderous music and the procession began to disappear through the doors into the heart of the sound and eventually, our red-haired, bright-eyed vesper was waving to us and we took our place behind her.


The church was floating in a sea of white lilies and alleluias. We took our place at the very front and after us came a stream of children carrying bright flowers that they placed in the cross of evergreens placed up front. This took some time and children were spilling up and to the sides and wandering around curiously. There was the fresh smell of crushed carnations and lilies and the bitter, ancient scent of the incense.


I had lost my program and so could not follow the liturgy; I could not have done it anyway, with the baby in my arms, so it took me completely by surprise when the song, Seek Ye First the Kingdom of God, rose up it seemed from under my feet and swept me away. The Rector saw my face and smiled.


I remembered that to seek the Kingdom of God is to seek and follow Christ and the power of those words and that thought rose up all through me- it seemed to me both a great necessity and a great pleasure, whereas before, I'd always been confused about this seeking. How should I seek this Kingdom? Where is this Kingdom? What does the seeking look like?


This anxiety is all but gone now, and I could sing those words without reservation and the next part of the song was in my mouth and I was singing and I was trying not to cry, because I was singing with my daughter in my arms.


I remembered the day after she was born, sitting with her in my arms in the newborn nursery and talking with her birthparents. As they were talking about their difficult journey toward choosing adoption, and the peace they felt with the decision now, Jesus spoke right into my heart. This is the child you asked Me for; I'm giving her to you, He had said.


On Easter morning, as soon as I'd started singing, Merissa looked up at me with joy and what my husband calls, "pure love" and reached her hand to my face and didn't take her eyes off me for a moment and tried to sing along softly, off tune. This is a regular occurrence, but one that happens in the nursery in the evening, without an audience.


In the church, Keith turned and looked down at us in awe. The people behind us started to film us. I was really having a hard time singing at this point, because it was taking all my concentration not to cry.


The song dissolved into the chorus of alleluias and then the next verse rose up, and I was doing okay until the part where I was singing, knock and the door shall be opened unto you, and I could barely say those words, it was so strong in me, the wonder of this open door that Christ has put before me.


I felt His love washing through me, reminding me and insisting that I remember this gift through the words of the song. I felt that and I felt His presence as though He were standing behind me, His hands on my shoulders, steadying me.


"I love You," I said, directing this thought as though to the cross at the center of the church.


I'm right here, He whispered into my ear, as though I were standing in the circle of His arms.


It was all very much. I was very glad to sit down when it was time to sit down. I knew Merissa would be hungry by then, so Keith fixed her a bottle and I offered it to her, wondering if she would take it in that strange environment. She wound her hand around one of my fingers and drank the entire bottle while the readings from Scripture were said. Merissa spent the Rector's short sermon bouncing on her father's knees and waving her hands in the air and being charming to the people behind us.


Then it was time to go up and then my anxiety struck hard. I kept my head down and thought about one thing at a time, first to take that step and then the next and then to look up and find the Rector's face so I would know which direction to head toward, then to look up toward Keith to be sure he was there and that he had the seven page booklet outlining the Sacrament. He was; he did.


It was a full church. I tried not to think about it. Two good people from the congregation stood beside as, as sponsors in place of Merissa's godparent who couldn't be there.


The Rector had said that any time they celebrated the sacrament of baptism, everyone renewed their vows with the person being baptized; that the sacrament was a communal act, a joining of the community, a common celebration and joy.


So when I said the vows with Keith and the sponsors, and in Merissa's stead, for her and with her until the time comes for her to confirm them for herself or not as she is free to do, I was also renewing them myself. This knowledge was being pressed on me, as I stood there, leaning against Keith, trying to read the words on the page.


The words we were reading were centuries old. When we were practicing, the first time we all spoke together, we unconsciously choose the word "we," instead of "I," and the Rector had to correct us. She said that although we were speaking in harmony, it was for each of us an individual declaration.


The Rector asked, "Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?"


And I looked up and declared, "I renounce them."


The Rector asked, "Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?"


"I renounce them."


The Rector asked, "Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?"


"I renounce them."


"Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior?"


And looking up into the space of air between the seats and the choir, I said, "I do."


"Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?"


And looking up, I said to Him, "I do."


The Rector asked, "Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord?"


And we all said together, and I said to Him then, and again, and for all my life and for our daughter: I do.


Merissa loves water, so she was not upset when she was baptized, only very much surprised and then she waved her hands around excitedly, sometimes laughing and sometimes smiling. She was calm and interested in the Chrism, the holy oil that was marked in a cross on her forehead.


"Merissa," the Rector said, tenderly, "you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ's own for ever."


I heard those words with a feeling of awe, and then the Rector presented her to the congregation by carrying her down into the central isle.


"Meet the newest little Christian," she announced.


As I watched her being carried away from me and into a crowd of interested people, I realized that Merissa is not just a gift to Keith and myself, but to the world, in the way each child is. I had a glimpse of what it will feel like when she is grown and walking away into her own life.


When we went down to our pew with Merissa, the woman behind us was in tears, her mascara pooling under her eyes. "I'm crying!" she said, a little helplessly, stretching her hands out. "I'm crying, it was so moving!"


When it was time for Eucharist, we were invited up. By that time Merissa, very much nap deprived, had fallen limply asleep in my arms, her face buried in my neck. Keith and I both wanted to go and so I simply carried Merissa with me; by this time, my right arm was about numb with the strain of holding her.


At the rail, I knelt down, still with her in my arms. I'm not sure how I managed this, as I was wearing an ankle length skirt and high heeled sandals, but in any case, down we went. The next thing I know, the black robed official next to me was bending down to talk to me.


"We don't kneel down at Easter," he told me, with such kindness.


Naturally speaking, due to my shyness, I should have been completely chagrined, because as it happened, the official, Keith, Merissa and myself were the only ones up there in front of the whole church- apparently that's another thing Episcopalians do that I wasn't aware of. But I wasn't embarrassed, I was full of some humble, willing joy.


"Oh, we don't?" I asked him, happily. We'd been kneeling down all during Lent and I'd just assumed it was the thing one did. Actually, I would have preferred to continue kneeling, but I was more than happy to follow the form.


He helped us up with one hand, otherwise, I'm not sure how I would have gotten back up.


"She did so well during the ceremony," he remarked, encouragingly, when I was standing, as though to comfort me for my small mishap.


"Yes, she did, didn't she," I agreed, joyfully.


When the Rector came to offer the host, she paused before stepping away. She turned back to place her hand on Merissa's head and began to pray. As she did, I felt the Spirit move over me so strongly that my eyes fluttered shut.


Merissa and I waited in the lobby until the rest of the service was over. While we were there, one of the black robed officials came by and paused. He was broad with a grizzled face and short, bristly grey hair and piercing eyes. He looked like a monk.


"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, in his direct manner, eyes twinkling- before the service, he'd asked us if we were nervous and Keith and I had both heartily admitted to being just that.


"No, it was not so bad," I said, Merissa still fast asleep in my arms. "It was wonderful," I added, softly, attempting to put some words to the experience.


"Yes," said the man briefly, softly. He touched Merissa's head with his fingers before turning away quickly and striding back to whatever duties were calling him


On the way home, we stopped at Burger King for some lunch. I sat in the car with the warm paper bag on my lap, listening to the radio and lost in thought. I couldn't help remembering the song I had sung in front of another congregation twenty years ago, when I had been sixteen, the last stanza especially:


“The soul that on Jesus doth lean for repose,
I will not, I will not, desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.”
-How Firm a Foundation


It seemed to me that the song and the vows I had repeated just that day were like bookends to a particular period of my life- a period of life like a wilderness.


When I was a teenager, I used to draw as a hobby and I filled sketch pads with pictures. I've kept some of them and two in particular stand out to me; I keep them in my bedside drawer.


One is of myself sitting in a wing chair looking out the open window, a book fallen to my lap while a messenger leans over the back of the chair, whispering into my ear. There is a look of wonder on my face. Written around the pictures are words from this verse:


"Listen, oh daughter, and incline your ear, for so the King will desire your beauty; worship Him, for He is your Lord." (Psalm 45:10-11)


The second sketch is of myself leaning against a tall, robed person with sandals with the desert behind them and this verse is written across the bottom of the page:


"Who is this coming up from the wilderness, leaning on her Beloved?" (Songs 8:5)


Sometimes I pull out those sketches- poorly done and fading now after twenty years- and wonder how it was that I seemed to know the way my life was going to unfold.


I know my daughter's life is going to unfold with sorrow as well; the very circumstances of her birth plunged her into it. She will have losses to grieve and questions to ask. She will have her own kind of wilderness to walk through.


Sometimes I am gripped with intense fear of the future, wondering what lies in wait, what fearful events, what shameful failures, what loss?


That night, when I prayed with Merissa, I whispered to her all the things we were thankful for during the day.


"And we don't know what tomorrow will bring," I whispered to her, acknowledging this as I always do. "But we know that Jesus will be with us every step of the way like a Good Shepherd and His rod and staff, they comfort us, so we do not need to be afraid.


"And we know that all night you'll be held close in His arms, safe under His wings, close to His heart- all night long, safe and cozy, until in the morning light you wake to Jesus.


"And we know that we come from Him and we return to Him, because we live in Him, because He died for us, because He loves us," I whisper to her like a song, one I say each night. "And so we love Jesus and we belong to Him forever and ever."


Amen

December 16th

I've been wanting to go back and read some old blog posts from this time last year, and today I finally remembered to do this at a moment when I also had the time- those two things do not always coincide, lately. I found this:

*

December 23rd, 2012

Our Christmas this year is still going to be modest and we are not able to travel up to Indiana as we usually have.

We did, however, buy something for Baby- the crib mattress. Keith jammed it up into our cart and then we looked at each other.

"For Baby!" I exclaimed happily. "Whoever and wherever he or she is!"

"Whoever," Keith repeated, smiling.

When I got home, I put away the groceries and then dressed the crib with Winnie the Pooh sheets and bumper pads. The nursery looks much more cozy now. I can imagine a tiny, wrinkled new born lying on those sheets, wearing footed pajamas and looking around with jerky movements and wide eyes.

We are going to take one month to try and do some repairs to our battered finances and then we will take out the loan in February and go active at the adoption agency.

This Christmas has been rough. I always feel as if I am scavenging through all the emotional clutter to get at something meaningful, some small piece of joy or hope or wonder that is left under the pressing anxiety of expectations.

I was cleaning out my bedside drawers recently- looking for something which I did not find- and I came across this scrap of paper on which I had written all the anxieties that had been pressing down on me at that time.

It was a long list and the funny thing was, I couldn't remember a single one of them. None of them mattered, in the long run. All of them were resolved.

All I could remember was how oppressed I had been by them at the time.

I've brought that scrap of paper to mind many times in the last few weeks. I don't know how or when, but I know that everything that feels heavy and impossible, everything looming over me right now, will be resolved and pass away.

As usual, I try always to wake up in the present moment; to be alive here and now, no matter how much I would like to escape into a rosy vision of what the future might hold, no matter how tightly I feel myself to be tied to the past.

Right now, for example, I hear the quiet clatter of the dryer and the whir of the heater, as it fights off the chill of this gray morning.

Keith's sneakers are tumbled at the floor beside my desk and my glasses rest on top of a Christmas card sent from my parents.

The Christmas lights twinkle in a haze of red, orange, green and blue; their reflections shine diffused and soft in the wood floor below.

Lynn sits at the window next to me, intent on some mysterious and pressing matter that only she knows about- a rabbit, maybe.

Right now, I feel worn out, inside and out. And that is okay. Even the landscape around me is resting now, bedded down deep and sleeping in the short days.

After the quietness, a different season will be coming. Right now there is only the promise of it, a light in the dark.

*

I can't help contrasting my life then to this year's Christmas. This year, I'm having to write with one eye on the baby monitor. There is no such thing as free time. If I chose to do one thing, it will cost me another.

I have a new desk, one scavenged from the curb outside Keith's office at work, where it had been left for the garbage truck. It must have been used as a concierge desk. It's very large and only slightly battered and set in what should be the formal dining room in the new house. My windows look out into the neighbor's siding, but they are large windows and they do let in a lot of light.

Beside me is the pack and play with the mobile above it in bright colors, diaper clothes and flannel blankets draped over the edge. Pushed up to the bookcase is a disintegrating cardboard box with unused Christmas decorations still partially unwrapped.

It's sunny and cold, the floors are scattered with bits of dry grass that the dogs bring in with them on a daily basis. Upstairs, laundry lies neatly on the bed, folded but heavily wrinkled from its long wait time in the dryer. I have to decide what's for dinner soon, because whatever it will be, it must come out of the freezer to de-thaw.

Yesterday during out weekly team Indiana, let's get in there, get what we need and get out again shopping trips, Keith and I bought a prime rib roast, to try it out as a Christmas meal tradition. Now I am terrified of ruining this ridiculously expensive cut of meat that I have never before cooked. It's lurking in the freezer as I type.

We are heading up to Indiana the day after Christmas and I'm kind of dreading the drive. Meri doesn't do well even on short trips. We'll probably end up driving through the night, in the hopes that she'll sleep. We still haven't decided what to do with the dogs.

Meri turns four months old tomorrow. She has that adorable bare patch on the back of her head from sleeping and every time I see it, or the way strands of her fine hair lift up from the crown of her round baby head, my heart melts.

She is determined to move and interested in talking. When I speak, she focuses on my mouth intently before breaking into a delighted, toothless smile and shyly whispering, "Huu!"

If she is happy, her whole self is happy. She kicks with happiness, arches with happiness, glows with it. She is rarely unhappy, but when she is, it is as though the world is coming to an end, right now, immediately and we must all run and yell for our very lives.

She likes to be up- sitting up, standing up, held up. If Keith or I support most of her weight, she will eagerly walk across the couch or floor or table, lifting her feet high and placing them down in a determined way. She wants to be on the go.

She has learned how to put herself to sleep, and will fuss if I hold her too long. Now I kiss her ("How many kisses a day to you get?" Keith asks her tenderly, from time to time. Nobody knows for sure, but we estimate in the hundreds) and lay her down, and she will remain there, cooing and murmuring until she falls asleep.

At night, she sleeps straight from six in the evening to six thirty in the morning. Though this has been happening for a while, I have yet to take it for granted, because I can still remember just how terrible it was before.

I wake up lately with this sense of freedom from dread- there is nothing more to be anxious about, the adoption is finished, complete, done. For three years, there was always something weighing down on me and it simply got more and more intense as the journey continued.

Now there are no more papers, appointments, meetings, phone calls, financial worries, unknowns, forms or deadlines- nothing. I can simply love and help and guide this delightful little person as she grows because she is my daughter.

There is just every day life, with each thing meaning more to me. I feel as if I am returning to myself, but softer, with more of the sharp edges worn off.

December 9th

Our back door is wide open. It's foggy and warm outside. It feels like spring, but Christmas decorations are up.

I love these.

The cashier at the PX did not at first realize they were lighted, saw the price and blurted out, "Are those a bunch of twigs?"

 

 

I continue reading Anna Karenina, though I openly admit to skipping huge parts of it. I don't understand the characters Anna or Vronsky, or what compels them to make endless numbers of terrible decisions.

 

However, I adore Constantine Levin, even if he does rather go on about farming. 

December 7th

How darling are these Santa pictures?

 

Even I got to sit on Santa's lap!

I thought he made a very good Santa.

It was adorable to watch the children's faces. It was as if they were drawn into belief almost despite themselves (and the poor quality of his beard). As soon as Santa held out his white gloves to them, they came close, their eyes shining.

November 22nd

I don't normally do holiday themed blogs, but my father just wandered over and told me to write.

This blog's for you, Dad!

My Thanksgiving began with a severely constipated coffee machine. Normally, I drink Folgers because I am not a hipster and I like to save money. Why not purchase one's coffee in a large red plastic bin?

However, my father drinks artisan coffee that was harvested from the steep slopes of some mist covered mountain accessible only by flying monkeys, and then ground right before use in an Italian marble mortar and pestle.

It's then percolated in distilled dew using a French press actually imported from France and then he puts both cream and cream flavored liquor in it, at which point it becomes a desert with caffeine in it.

So anyway, in an attempt to keep his environs as familiar as possible, knowing that the South was going to be traumatic enough for him, I tried to purchase some form of whole bean coffee. This was hard to locate, but I found a bag.

It wasn't great, but it was working until yesterday, when it came out strangely weak. That was not acceptable.

This morning I was determined not to let it happen again. I added even more beans and let it do it's thing while I was cleaning up from the debauchery of the night before- gathering the cocktail glasses still festooned with a limp wedge of lime and bowls of stale potato chips, picking up shoes discarded and left in places where they are sure to be tripped over later- and feeding the dogs.

I made Keith's breakfast of champions and started frying bacon.

The house was becoming clean and the bacon became crisp, but the coffee only got weaker. Irritated, I dumped the coffee water back in the machine, added more beans and set it to go again.

This time around the machine made distressed choking sounds and began to foam at the mouth. Despite this impressive display, the end product could not even be called coffee.

I was perplexed.

Seeing it was inevitable, I postponed my other tasks and began dismantling the coffee machine. Coffee grounds filled it from top to bottom; as I opened it they spilled out onto the counter in waves. Some had formed a kind of cement that required hot water and a small screw driver to loosen.

 I'm surprised the poor thing still functions. But it does, and for that I am grateful.

As I write, there is a rustic flower arrangement on the table, Mom in the kitchen, Dad on facebook and a husband watching football.

There is a turkey in the oven, a ham to be glazed, a green bean casserole waiting, potatoes to be mashed, a mango cranberry chutney finished, rolls in the oven, two cream cheese desserts in the fridge and a head of garlic slowly roasting.

I have a cocktail with a wedge of lime and a coffee machine with which I am now much more intimately familiar.

Happy Thanksgiving.

June 17th

It's Father's Day.

I'm grateful I have a dad who is always there to hear all about my existential angst. In fact, he insists that he actually enjoys being able to do that. Thank goodness.

Yesterday, we went to a birthday party in the afternoon.

I was in charge of the ice cream. This picture was taken moments before placing a scoop of rocky road into an unsuspecting guest's hand.

Ice cream- it's slippery. Be warned.

The birthday girl, right after taking a swing at a cupcake pinata- with a billy club someone brought home as a memento from their tour in Iraq.

She turned five. I remember when she was turning two.

Earlier that morning, Keith and I went out riding. It was just a tad bit muddy out there. Keith is proudly pointing to my hand print, clearly marked out in mud on his shirt.

We had one hour between ATV excursion and birthday party.

I'm not sure how, but in an hour, all the clay was out of my hair and I was party ready, with purse, birthday gift and a late and much needed cup of coffee in hand.

The night before, we had friends over and played games on the lawn until it got too dark to see. This game is officially called Bolango Ball, but we dubbed it Flam Flam, or Fling.

You can see why.

The men.

The women.

Totally posed shot showcasing Team Indiana. Go team! Way to artificially create a photo-moment.

Ugh. I'm still clearly not comfortable being photographed all the time.

However, I am getting better at remembering to take them, and there's lots more summer to go.

December 24th

Christmas Eve. I've always loved Christmas Eve.

I'm up in Indiana, by the way. Keith's back was so much better we decided to head up after all.

I've been wanting to blog this for a while, but with travel and all, I haven't had a chance. I've just been carrying it around in my heart, so I wouldn't forget.

After I wrote the blog about the third chapter of John, I wanted immediately to write more like that, just because it was such a pleasurable thing to write.

Who knows what it was really like- but just illustrating it with words was so satisfying, even if the words can't do justice to the reality.

So, in bed that night, I was thinking through all the other scenes in John, thinking which one I might chose. But none of them had that "spark" or inspiration that let me know I could actually write it out.

As usual, I was resting in the close and loving presence of Christ, so I said to Him, "You're not in any of these."

That may sound strange, because the whole book is about Him, so of course He's in it. But what I meant was that I didn't see Him as vividly in those other scenes.

He said, That's because I'm right here.

"Yes, Jesus," I said, with a kind of humble joy.

I like this response- the response He's teaching my heart to say- I like it much better than my old response, which was to flatly deny His grace and love out of a deep feeling of unworthiness.

For a while there, I began saying, "Yes, Lord," as a sort of automatic response to His voice and it wasn't long before I felt Him check me.

Jesus reminded me of how I had used to hide my true self behind my religious behavior, and among those behaviors was using the title "Lord."

Which is a completely appropriate title- He is the Lord of Lords and King of Kings. But He didn't want me to go back to hiding behind the formality of the title.

When I was first getting used to having Him so close and real, one night, I used the phrase "I worship You," as opposed to the outflow of my heart, that springs up like a song without words. It was as though I were trying that phrase out for the first time, and it did feel a little stiff to me.

When I said "I worship You," I felt Jesus draw even closer to me. I felt His tender love of me, and most surprisingly, I felt His loving humor.

He said tenderly, How formal my little one is tonight!

That was the first time I ever experienced His loving humor. It took me so by surprise- that was not at all the response I had been expecting from Him. But, oh! How it made me love Him more.

It's like He said to the woman at the well:

"It's who you are and the way you live that count before God. Your worship must engage your spirit in the pursuit of truth. That's the kind of people the Father is out looking for: those who are simply and honestly themselves before him in their worship. God is sheer being itself—Spirit. Those who worship him must do it out of their very being, their spirits, their true selves, in adoration."
John 4:23-24, The Message

Tonight and tomorrow, we celebrate our God with us. Not far away, not unreachable, not aloof- He is with us.

Our God is living with us, suffering right alongside of us, speaking to us, teaching us and above all, loving us in each moment of each day, right where we are in our life.

How could we not worship Him in adoration, in the truth of who we are and who He is?

Let every heart prepare Him room!

December 17th

We survived Walmart on Super Saturday- if that doesn't speak well for a marriage, I don't know what does.

Actually, it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. I expected full on madness, with weeping and cart bashing in the isles, as small children wailed and adults grabbed up the last of whatever toy is hot on the market right now.

Surprisingly, everyone was well behaved, if a little strained around the eyes.

I got eggnog flavored creamer, and ricotta cheese to make Keith's new favorite dish- baked stuffed manicotti, and another roast and big fat steaks to grill, because the temperature was in the seventies today, and why not grill during Christmas time?

What could be more festive than standing around outside in bare feet, grilling steaks and drinking margaritas on the patio?

Hot cocoa with marshmallows, you say? Roasted chestnuts? Turkey?

Ha.

I see people walking around outside with coats and sometimes even scarves on and I wonder.

Are they doing that just out of a feeling of nostalgia for winter wear? Do they feel left out of the tailored styles of outerwear and accessories that the rest of the country get to parade around in this time of the year?

It wouldn't suprise me- I'm starting to do the same thing. Sometimes I go into the closet and just run my hand along my entire row of silk lined wool skirts and heave a sigh. Today, I wore black tights just because.


I rediscovered the 16th Psalm recently:

Keep me, O God, for I am safe in You.

I said to the Lord, “You are my Lord.
All the good things I have come from You.”

As for those in the land who belong to You,
they are the great ones in whom is all my joy.

Those who have traded for another god bring many troubles on themselves.
I will not take part in their altar gifts of blood.
And I will not take their names upon my lips.

The Lord is all that I am to receive,
and my cup.

My future is in Your hands.
The land given to me is good.
Yes, my share is beautiful to me.

I will give honor and thanks to the Lord,
Who has told me what to do.
Yes, even at night my mind teaches me.

I have placed the Lord always in front of me.
Because He is at my right hand,
I will not be moved.

And so my heart is glad.
My soul is full of joy.
My body also will rest without fear.

For You will not give me over to the grave.
And You will not allow Your Holy One
to return to dust.

You will show me the way of life.
Being with You is to be full of joy.
In Your right hand there is happiness forever.