chapel, Faroe Islands, image by Eszter Miller, on Pixabay, modified A word about city conditions and coast riches This city shows houses hiding in rain when morning sails in. No mountains to hold sun, the centre shows all roofs cold-new. Bikes jam, vans cut off canals. Distant. I move up to the silent stretching sky, closer to the North Sea. Cargos hover outside a harbour’s mouth, the stoney sailor’s wife's still at the Old Church, staring for ever. He won’t retur

image by Elle Ritter, on Pixabay, modified Found In third grade, we released balloons with letters we’d written tucked inside. We watched from our blacktop schoolyard, dressed in plaid jumpers, faces upturned, as they became colorful dots rising over the steeple of St. Francis Seraph church where twice a week, we shuffled into the pews with bowed heads, kneeled, clutched our hands, and prayed the words of children. One day, a letter arrived in the mail, a reply to my

summer jasmine, image by Eukalyptus, on Pixabay, slightly modified Excessive Too young to roll over and die Too old to keep working like this Too stubborn to accept change Too powerless to resist it Too broken to be strong Too damaged to be confident Too tired to fix myself Too wise to be ignorant Dramatic pause You think it’s over. It’s not. Too smart to do nothing Too passionate to not care Too loved to be empty Too blessed to not share Too strong-willed to give up To

watercolor, image by Layers, on Pixabay Praise God No Matter What I asked myself: What actually is praise? It is beyond clapping, chanting, dancing, It is rivers of inner joy from man’s heart Destined for the inimitable divine heart. It’s beyond what human minds can fathom, All about acknowledging His mightiness, Praise is not just spoken, feelings, not a spray of eloquence , but lifting up Jehovah, revering His magnificent nature. Listening to Aunty Stella teach, I c

image by valter, on Pixabay, slightly modified Second Chances Really, I don’t deserve His goodness and mercy. For all my times of rebelliousness and disobedience, He should just let me bear the consequences of my mistakes. But He doesn’t. At this point, I am experiencing love and forgiveness according to His mercy and grace. I am embarrassed to say, I feel like a spoiled, only child. Why does He love me so? I don’t deserve it, but He blesses me anyway. He turns my oops into

sunlit chair by window, image by Sasha Moroz, on Pixabay, modified Hiding Place Early morning light peeks through the PVC blinds, gently waking me from sleep. I murmur, good morning, gazing up at the ceiling with half-shut eyes— this is all I can offer in the moment. My lungs inflate with life at this acknowledgement. Stretching out my hand, I find a warm tuft of fur still snoozing Good morning to you, too. The cat does not bother herself so much with greetings. A str

running, image by Gerd Altmann, on Pixabay Lazarus I can't help but look back Sometimes And I wonder: Did Lazarus feel Such dismay When he woke to find Burial cloths Wrapped around him, Clinging to his skin As I do Today Seeing where I once came from? Did his skin crawl From the smell of Death Newly departed As mine does Remembering The feel of violent hands? How freeing To shed To strip Those rank and filthy rags To leave them behind in the dark And run Full-tilt

cliff and sea, image by Ida, on Pixabay Linger Gnarled limbs gripped cliff, precarious. Watched migrants drift below on turquoise waves beneath a pastel sky. Millions carried by time’s stream. Did any pause— hear wind rustle, taste sun— linger, embrace the fleeting beauty of life? George Chandy is a retired physician-scientist newly embarkin

puddle with leaves, image by congerdesign, on Pixabay, modified A Prayer for Tadpoles Ripples nip the curbside puddle, a strip of bile-brown bathtub clogged with leaves and shrinking under the sun’s scowl. Tadpoles teem beneath the sheen: an inch-deep nursery drying daily as tiny-tailed bodies budge their brothers like bumper cars. Orphans of this stagnant shoal, I pray that your amphibious crib may not drip down to Sheol. * Golden Hour a

image by Heba S, on Pixabay The Ocean Doesn’t Argue To argue with the ocean, how it climbs ladders, touches clouds and star. Fist to God is as if a battalion of words will cut, kill creation itself. The slit of earth does not listen, does not move. God sees the cluster of sand run through the vapor of hands. Salt in the eyes and the bubbling swell of defeated laughter. And he has not forgotten. Even— the ease of his head could turn, look at the beauty of his bare feet, yet

image by Hanin Abouzeid, on Pixabay, slightly modified The Art of Being Humble My wife got a real treat when she found me. Yes, sir, after being single all of those years, I was self-sufficient. I did my own laundry, did my own ironing, always opened the car door for her, and always helped with the dishes and the cooking. I can fold bath towels properly and, when I get new clothes, I know that they need to be run through a rinse cycle and that you can’t throw a dark

illustration by the translator, Jerrice J Baptiste Ayiti, Ma Belle (Ayiti is the original name for Haiti.) We reimagine your beauty of long ago, when hope is far from us like the sea. Your fireflies don’t flash in dark cornfields. Laughter disappears even with Krik-Krak. Precious Joumou squash can’t be grown, can’t be shared in backyards with pebbles. When hope escapes us, we reach for lullabies, comforting bosom like white sand countryside. Tin roofs of our

praise, image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images, on Pixabay He Gave He rescued me. Now I can stand and sing. He set me free. To Him I’ll cling. He broke my chains. Now I can lift my hands. He bore my pains. Forever, I know He stands. He gave me grace, and grace I’ll give . He gave me life. For Him I’ll live. * Everything We Need How wonderful it is to know that

image by Layers, on Pixabay, modified Divine Gyre Time swirls within the architecture of the eternal where an instant masks millennia. Prophetic points of light reflect the flicker, each candle flame a sacred connection, a visible incarnation. Transcendent hearts kindle behind the eyes. Sprites of time joyfully dance. Eternal flashes ignite in bouquets of orchid and violet, rose and dahlia swell this floral firmament. Flares of faith, the essence of the now that was, is… …and

compass, image by vialevo, on Pixabay, modified Exploring Idioms The “flight of fancy” invites us to let our imagination soar, free of cold logic’s shackles. It is in these creative moments when possibilities unfold, and the waking dream becomes a powerful force for new insights. “Hear the breeze a gentle blow,” sings a song soft and low, soothes the mind, and unties chains. In another word: belief. Life’s uncertainties are invitations to faith and deference. The phr

fountain pen, image by Pexels, on Pixabay, modified Closure Clouds hide the closure of another year. Happy and sad, failures and triumphs. Conflicts at home and abroad. Warming trends. Killing of innocence. I grow weary of it. But I still hope in the future. To be kinder. Sharing with strangers. To be at peace with myself and nature. I say farewell to the past. Look forward to a fresh page. Start the next chapter.

image by Angela S, on Pixabay The Peace Crackling Fire Brings As I sit in front of the crackling fire, Autumn leaves swirl all around, Their brown and golden hues intertwining, Creating a cozy, calm atmosphere. The sparks of fire illuminate the room, As I sit with a cup of hot chocolate, Reminiscing of autumns having gone past, Memories I will never forget. I know God created this cozy atmosphere So He can help me feel at peace, Bible open in one hand, The beautiful verses

Photo by Cindy Bousquet Harris What Respite What respite from her thrilling toil did ever beauty take ~ Emily Dickinson The dancer knows mid-air the muscular cost of a leap, and she jumps anyway, then seems to take her leisure high on that hard-won height. This is how a new life cradles itself in muscles and nerves, in hands that take joy in the freedom of giving as they pass out food from overflow to ever-want, a practice that becomes as easy as the finches’ songs floa

butterfly pendant, image by Ella Angelika Gronewold, on Pixabay, modified Emperor of the Final Galaxy God’s footstool his angelic altar Magnetic multitudes polarized throne Prime property a world of water Maturation grace wisdom fully grown Personal perception lightning scepter Matter on each and every sphere Candid moments Polaroids forever Oceans laced with his benevolent tears Sunlight warms our planet earth

autumn trees, image by kollsd, on Pixabay, slightly modified Autumn Beauty Looking only at the crumbled leaves on the sidewalk And at the sunset creeping earlier and earlier o'clock It's so easy to forget the beauty in the fall Look up, dear, see the many colors of the trees They are dancing as the wind sheds their old leaves Look up and see the whole picture to find peace Take your vitamin D and look outside your window during lunch time Summer sunshine will come