shouts of joy

It's been a long sprint. Years of trial, but an equal amount of joy. And as the sun lightens the contours of her face, her age is peeled back and there lies the bareness of her youth. The light breeze flips her white, gray hair out away from her face. She breaks the silence, "You can hear the river, can't you?" Just then my wondering mind is drawn back to the presence of this woman. You hear the birds, don't you? What about the lawn mower down the street? The sprinklers next door? Or the bees in the garden? You hear it all, don't you, or don't you? How fast our time may come, when we can't hear and see the beauty around us. Maybe this is why we spend our lives learning to trust, so in the end we will trust the mystery we once knew to be certain.

8am and the weather man said we'd have rain all day , all week, and I sit here comfortably with my legs crossed in the big pink chair in the formal living room. Admiring through the floor to ceiling window, I see the green of the forest and sunbeams stabbing through the swaying branches of the sky-bound pines. The sun has arrived so unexpectedly as if to say where is your faith?  and that gives me a very real sense of hope. Maybe our story isn't finalized when the weather man announces it on the local station. It's a tragedy that we cannot predict for ourselves, instead we rely on a man or woman we don't even know to tell us what the future will unfold. Yet, why would I trust myself? The voice inside my head repeats, You are good, but that's not good enough, because good enough is not perfect.  As I look outside again to see that the sun is still there, I know it's deceiving. Although it looks as if the sun could warm a body, it's a lie. There's no he

As this is the day to celebrate mother's I think of my own incredible mother, by whom my entire being praises for her lifelong commitment to her three children. I think of Skip's mother. Emily's mother. Nick's mother. Katie's mother. All the mothers who have fought the evils of this world to raise beautiful children. Mothers who have voluntarily taken me in as their own. I think of a dear friend of mine, a mother of two sweet children. I think of another friend who has agreed to, in a few short months, single-handedly take on the role of a mother. I also remember another woman who has lovingly given her own for another woman unable to conceive. And another who adopted from the deserts of Ethiopia. There is another who has so desperately wanted to love as only a mother can, only to be crushed after a heartbreaking miscarriage. Yet, I am also reminded of the young woman who refused her motherhood and shut the door through abortion. And I think of friends who are anxio