Monday, February 11, 2008


We all have a direction, we all follow a direction, and sometimes, we all need a direction. Life takes some of us up huge mountains full of new careers and beautiful children. For others, they don't ever see a mountain, and can only recognize deep valleys of disappointment, death, and divorce. Some of those in the world don't choose their path, such as pastors, soldiers, and pilots, and of course Uncle Henry on Christmas Eve when Aunt Ruthie says, "We're going to the in-laws!"
But no matter what, there is always something--a direction. For Christians, it's a still small voice. For chemo patients, it's the doctor's news. For children, it's their mother telling them to go to bed. For me, it's an untold story, much like a breeze on an autumn day. Where to next? What lies ahead? My journey thus far is already better than was ever dreamed possible.
I'm moving, going up a hiking trail in Colorado. I haven't seen all the beauty yet, because I know the real view is from the top, so I'll enjoy the pines and the bluejays along the way, knowing that eventually I'll get there, and the beauty will be entirely worth the climb.

What is love to me?

Love is changing a flat tire in the rain so she doesn't have to.
Love is taking off work early just go with her to that scary doctor's appointment.
Love is genuine--never failing.
Love is telling him not to wear that because it doesn't really match.
Love is reminding her that she is as beautiful on Saturday morning as she is at Sunday church.
Love is saying thank you.
Love is putting your own problems aside to listen to his bad day.
Love is offering a back rub even though it hurts to give with your arthritis.
Love is patient.
Love is 50 Christmases in a row together sharing traditions and unforgettable memories.
Love is selling your car to pay for the new baby.
Love is holding her when her sister died tragically in that accident.
Love is picking her fresh flowers on your way home.
Love is being level-headed when she's not.
Love is about her.
Love is about him.
Love reflects its master after time.
Be love and you will receive it. 
But really, true love doesn't care if it ever receives it. It would do it anyway.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008


Morgan Neilson lived in a fancy house, drove a new black Lexus--always spotless, and parked in the most coveted of parking spaces at the Washington Summersfield--only seven and a half steps from the front door. Today she sauntered merrily into work on this rainy day (which was 75% of any day) with her olive green umbrella and matching italian leather shoes. Her 5'9" frame walked slowly past the office cublicles where little miss Willamina Frita sucked on her Werther's candy so hard that she almost caused a sore to form in her mouth from the tight pucker that her lips held. Willamina stared at Ms. Neilson like a god as she passed, and Willamina tried without being completely obvious, to sniff her strong Chanel No. 5 perfume. Everyday she gawked  as Ms. Neilson's slim figure strolled the asiles of paperwork and Willamina listened to the sound of her heels as they approached. She sifted through her papers hoping that Ms. Neilson would not stop and say something to her, but all the while, living for the anticipation of every morning. Ms. Neilson passed her desk today. She pressed the up arrow on the elevator with her freshly manicured fingernails, using only her pointer finger and then placed it slowly back by her side, returning to her model posture stance. Her charcoal suit was so perfectly tailored that it was sure to never fit another as well, and even complimented Ms. Neilson's blue eyes and blonde hair. It hugged every curve as if it the suit yielded to her power. 
Her office and only her office, was located on the 7th floor. It was known at the Summersfield as the room of mystery because no one had ever been up there that worked on the filing floor. What was far above on floor number 7 was far in distance, but much closer in Willamina's imagination...

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Thoughts of a beautiful life

Because life is beyond our intelligence, light beyond our vision, and love beyond our comprehension, we do not try to understand much more than this:

If there are words to say, may we speak them.
If there are beautiful moments, may we brand them into our imaginations for eternity.
If there are miracles in front of us, may we never be too blind to see them.
Lord Jesus, be near.

If there are thoughts to be had, may we not ignore them with excuses.
If there is hurt in our life, may we surrender it to the Savior.
If there is heartache, may we have the time to heal.
Lord Jesus, be near. Hear us.

For if we are too busy, too blind, and too selfish, we will never see the future for what it really is. It will forever be only a city inside a glass bottle that we may never touch. We may never touch it, for fear of breaking.

Monday, February 4, 2008

Beautiful Song

Ingrid Michaelson, thank you for writing the most beautiful song...

If you were falling, then I would catch you.
You need a light, I'd find a match.

Cuz I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am.

If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
Your head is aching, I'll make it better.

Cuz I love the way you call me baby.
And you take me the way I am.

I'd buy you Rogain if you start losing all your hair.
Sew on patches to all you tear.

Cuz I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
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