"Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage." Psalm 84:5


I am writing this by the lowlight of the moon, pale yet voluminous, bathing my hands blue grey white
Scribbling on a stray index card fished from my ruby red purse while at a stoplight
Many times I have said to You on the road under that low full gazing ball planet
"How am I supposed to be a responsible driver at the hands of this glowing beauty I cannot avert my eyes from?"

I have stood at the edge of a smooth river, a tall green forest, a jagged cliff overlooking a bright cobalt ocean foaming on sheer rock faces
Shivering in my little soul at the tiny presence I had there, my humanness stark against the muted ethereal beauty of what you formed with your hands
On glazed white mountaintops, in cool sour caves under the dank earth, staring out mesmorized over waving flaxen prarie grass
Knowing in my softened heart the wonder of this communion I am blessed to have with the Artist at whose purpose these all came to be

I lay sleepless in the early morning hours, my lips silently moving in prayers for needy, lacking ones; for the parts of me I see in these
I try not to live in the wrong kind of fear, but I do fear - and in my trembling minisculeness I want your sweet comfort, Your strong arms, Your truthful words, Your anchor of peace
Like a river down in my soul. I am a deer seeking water, a child keenly aching for her mother, a moth nearing a bare porch bulb
Yours is the heart I lean into, away from the howling bitter winds of desolation; yours is the hand mine searches for in the dark

To you in your light of lights that is life in your
unseen glory in your
untouchable flame of holiness by the
unquestioning willingness of your only Son
I am irrevocably
inexorably, fixedly