Good Morning November

November throws flames high among the oaks, the maple's limb - such a brazen artist. I've found

She believes it's Her job to change up our moods
And washes red and orange and yellow across
the landscape of our grounds and thoughts
and as we look up, we sigh and try
to hold November in our minds and gather her in our hearts because
She is oh so beautiful, brief, brazen, and bathed in Holiness. I walk
across the lawn and praise and pick up Her golden leaves and cherish them, for in moments
they will crush into the earth just like memories and melted maybes. lw

Merry Messes On My Mind

I glance into my dressy living room and yearn for an old fashioned messy Christmas where tangled tree lights and kids and tacky tinsel make for a hilarious tree trimming get together. Where pine needles stick into sofa cushions and the jingle-jangles of bells blend perfectly with the squeals of little girls. "Look, I just found baby Jesus and Joseph! Oh no, Mary's missing, Oh, here she is, wrapped up with the camel."


Now, the room glows with a kind of quiet sophistication, the look of dolled up adults,, mixing small talk with champagne and well-chosen Christmas carols. I wonder . . . do others, like me, still ache from the lingering effects of the tidy empty nest? Peace and Quiet are finally mine and I ache for chaos, the Christmas kind where giggles and silly memories create havoc and outrageous joys.
Oh yes I want a big full-blown mess -- loud and wacky, where mismatched dirty socks and angelic tree toppers mingle with twisted light cords.

Bring out the musty boxes of re-glued spindly ornaments and scribbled, Santa letters, many chocolate stained, all cherished masterpieces


I am a hopeless case for I feel like an old rose preserved between the pages of The Night Before Christmas. I thumbed through the classic tale, the same story I memorized as a child, read to my daughters and now to my eight grandchildren. I closed the book but not the memories for they linger still. I held the book squarely across my breasts as if embracing the last forty years as a mother. No clatter on the lawn, though, just the sound of a mother's quickened heart.


I light a scented candle- pine, I think, lean back on my wide sofa and allow the familiar words dance through my head - - " not a creature was stirring .. . . not even a mouse," well, at least not this year

Jump and Your Wings Shall Appear

Up With Reading

A friend suggested a book to read this winter. It's titled Radical and it is. . . well, radical, real and risky. It's a book that shouts "Jump and your wings shall appear." My pal and I think alike, share a common faith, so I raced to Borders. So, how can a darling grandmother-type suggest such a read as Radical? You see, we are both daring and dangerous when it comes to our Art, our Truth, our Purpose.

So, here I am wrestling with this paperback that is changing the fiber of my being and lifting me skyward in my thoughts, my path, my commitment to the Good Life. These 220 pages will scrub your soul, erase your mental debris and outrageously awaken your Love Life. And, that's just the first chapter. Perhaps I sound simply like another book reviewer, but actually I am just a reader who, when I find a message that I feel must be digested by all, jump to the occasion.These few pages has opened wide the doors to another Land, a space where I see more clearly, feel more deeply, live more and love more lavishly. Oops, I forgot about the rule, "no adverbs please".

Now, I feel comfortable to share a tea bag with Tagore, pull up a chair at the C. S. Lewis dining table, and walk the beaches with Maya Angelo and perhaps . . . Moses.

I am now graciously blessed, caressed by the words of David Platt. And certainly more grateful than I'd ever dreamed possible. Why, because I now know that yesterday my world was a tea cup, now a globe.