a covenant for today

i've been thinking a lot about covenants lately. in my earnest and heartfelt attempt to understand, truly understand, the Bible, i've started again back at the beginning. deep in the language of genesis, there's mention of these sacred promises. to never again send rain to cover the earth. that all the land, as far as abraham could see, would be his. that his family would be fruitful enough to cover that land with babies and women and love. that sarah could have her taste of miracles, even though by any other standard than God's, she was too old for such dreams.

they were big, these covenants. huge. they were a declaration that things would be OK for you. that there would be long days of gray and heartaches, but there would also be sunshine. so much sunshine that the dove would never come back and you would forget the flood.

reading it, i rejoiced for these people. these early foragers plowing their way through life, guinea pigs of the most fantastic kind. and i, too, ached for a covenant. an assurance.

but i was reminded this morning, driving to work with my hard boiled egg and favorite song, that such a covenant does exist. it exists when i sneak a peek at pablo asleep on the pillow, his little paw tucked under his chin. or at robert, putting his folded clothes into the old dresser. it exists when i hold hands across the table with my family, like last night at mama's. and on my favorite two-second walk to the mailbox at the end of the day.

the same promises that were made to these ancient ancestors hold true for us today. the flood won't last. there will be sun. there will be redemption. there will be mercy. there will be babies. there will be life. there will be forgiveness. there will be joy.

our plans, and His

sometimes, your best laid plans get washed.

sometimes, you pay out the ears for a groom and a haircut for your pup.

you put your own hair in one of those "i'm so hippie and free yet this took me quite a while to do and required more bobby pins than a real hippie probably owns" topknots.

you wear your new shoes handed down to you from your mama. the ones that didn't quite fit her feet and came along on the exact evening the tennis shoes you've had since high school decided to shed themselves  as you walked down the driveway.

you wear your favorite shades and your t-shirt with a pickle on it, and you're feeling pretty fabulous as you start out for the dirt road, just a pretty sunday evening in june.

then, the heavens open up and from nowhere at all black clouds spin into view.

you start walking fast, then a little faster, almost to a power walk (because even in the most dire of circumstances, running must be avoided)

and you realize you're still a good half mile from home and the rain is pounding furiously

then, you look down and see your fluffy, manicured, pampered, prissy pooch

soaked to the bone with his held thrown back

taking the water square in the face

jumping up and down and wagging his tail harder than you've ever seen
happy as a lark

deliberately jumping in every.single.puddle on the way home

and you realize that sometimes
God's got better plans in store than yours.

finding the soul

there are some times, some special, deeply intimate times, when eyes transform and become portals, little peep holes into souls. sometimes, when the light hits just right and i'm at the right vantage point, i swear i can see into the sacred. like robert's grandma in the hospice bed. the split second her lids fluttered apart. or robert's. squinting up at me in the november sunshine, down on one knee.

the other day, it was pablo. riding in the car on my lap, sneaking peeks behind him at me in my dress. the way the wind was blowing his ears and how his wet nose felt against my wrist. and looking into those pupils i swear i felt God. He does come in unexpected ways sometimes, and a sunday car ride home with the windows down and twilight swirling seems like a pretty lovely place to make an appearance.

the song that wasn't

I sat down to write you a song

A simple melody you could hold on to

I wanted to tell you I love you

I wanted to tell you I feel you near, but

Two hours later

A blank sheet of paper

And I’m still here

Your words are beautiful

Your words are wonderful

Your word’s the lamp unto my weary, wandering feet

My words are ordinary

My words fall flat and every

Single time I write them I feel so inadequate

Cause you wrote the book

xxxx

and the songbirds keep singing like they know the score

xxxxxx

this summer, i did not need an early alarm.

every day, at 6:30 in the morning, like clockwork. i was sweetly, softly, pulled awake.


by a singsong. a melody unlike any other. a little falsetto followed by a short lived baritone. a songbird.


our bed is right beside a window. a big, old window that faces a meadow and a clothesline. blueberry bushes and apple trees.


and when the weather was just warm enough, little birds. i kept the blinds closed to keep out the blinding sun, so i never saw firsthand this delightful alternative to my timex, but it knew exactly, precisely, how much time i would need to wake up, prepare myself for the day, and head out in my honda in time for work.


i named him roger. i presumed him to be male, but in reality, it might have been a lovely lady bird.


yesterday morning, with  hours left to sleep before church, my heating pad on a delicious full blast, and pablo curled at my toes, i heard a familiar, albeit all but forgotten chorus.


roger was back. the brief reprieve of warmth that came with the weekend was enough to draw him out of winter hiding and back to my windowsill.


they're calling for more snow in north carolina this weekend, and inevitably, roger will return to where he came from. storing up those sweet vibratos for springtime.


but at 6:30 on a sunday morning, i was reminded.


that every day brings new surprises. new beginnings. new blessings.


and yes, 


new chances to puff up our chests, look toward the heavens, and sing a song of joy toward a Creator who listens, and who always knew we'd come back. no matter how long we've been away.

i go where the trees go

there is a little cottage in the mountains. it's a tiny little thing nestled between high arching trees. there are rhododendrons on its sidewalk and rosebushes decorate its split rail fence. the rooms aren't large, but there are flannel sheets, a soft floral couch, perfect showerhead water pressure, and heat that echoes off the floorboards.

i spent the weekend here with robert and my brother. the cottage, owned by robert's parents, is on lake junaluska, near asheville, north carolina. robert's dad is a methodist minister, and the lake community serves as a retreat center for the methodist church. there is peace here. this is a place where street lights stay on all night. bed and breakfasts, with their faint evening glow and dimly lit dining rooms, are scattered along the water's edge. old men talk on rocking chairs on front porches. people walk the "prayer circle" outside the little waterside chapel, praying for someone different with each turn and arc.

this weekend, i took my two favorite boys up here to soak in the glory. highlights of our weekend include:

• walking around the lake at 1 a.m., finally reaching the mountainside cross around 2:00 in the morning.
• seeing the fabulous joanna newsom live at the orange peel in asheville
• eating all the fabulous diner food we could manage (hot dogs, BLTs, homemade vegetable soup)
• seeing the movie unstoppable at the rocky mountain cinema, a little hole in the wall that hasn't changed in about 20 years, with only a few rows of chairs for each screen

and finally, venturing to this book store:

this store was crazy. it was about two miles off the beaten path in the heart of the mountains. it was a total fire hazard, with thousands of books packed into this trailer outside a house. all the books were ridiculously overpriced because we believe the woman doesn't really want to sell them. she just wants to live in them.

the owner, an older woman with short hair and strong country accent, was hard to find at first. then we spotted her. she had created a little cubby inside all the books, where she would poke her little head out. please notice our shocked expressions:

it was all fun and games until we saw the millions of no-stealing signs the woman had posted up. all were handwritten, scribbled on plain white paper. one said "attention thieves: if you steal from me, your blood will flow." this seemed a bit much, so we got scared and left. my brother managed to find a book of wordsworth poetry for less than $5, which he quickly purchased.

overall, the weekend was awesome. packed with tranquility, peace and relaxation. with just the right amount of adventure.

morning has broken

mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning

born of the one light, eden saw play

praise with elation, praise every morning

God's recreation of the new day
-cat stevens, morning has broken

today is a new day. the sun has risen over the fields and there is the promise of greatness on the horizon. so hug somebody today. take a second to look someone in the eye and say i.love.you. because His blessings are new every morning, and so are second chances.

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