But you are a tower of refuge to the poor, O  lord,
a tower of refuge to the needy in distress.
You are a refuge from the storm
and a shelter from the heat.
For the oppressive acts of ruthless people
are like a storm beating against a wall
Isaiah 25:4 (NLT)

Dear Readers, 

I’m dropping in from The Wilderness Place to say “Hello,” and give you a quick update.

I want you to know, you are important to me.

I often sit at my desk, envisioning you across the table from me, sharing conversation, laughter and life. Digging deep, sharing the unholy hard, the weight of all that feels not right, not good, and if we’re honest, not fair.

I am working on a post that feels substantial somehow. A process of peeling off layers. A process that compelled me to look deep into my identity. Who I am. Who I long to be. Who I belong to.

I peered into the mirror, traced the lines, the weariness of pain, etched deep in my face. Leaning in, asking, “Who is this girl?”

I will share it soon, sign up here to make sure you do not miss it!

For now, I am sharing a bit of wilderness life.

Once again we are under a massive and dangerous storm threat. The sunny morning quickly turned dark. There’s a quiet eeriness in the air. Lola and I have stacked up the deck furniture, buttoned down the hatches, turned on lamps. Soon we will curl up in my chair together and read.

I shared from my March Bookshelf last week.

This one book:

Russ Ramsey’s story, his words, they have lingered deep in my soul.

I picked up Struck thinking as a wife whose husband underwent open heart surgery it would speak into that season. It did not.

Rather, it spoke into my illness.

The need sometimes to retreat, isolate myself from others. My frustration at the words others often say. Words, said with love and good intentions. They still sting a bit, spark anger I do not want to feel.

I shake it off tucking it neatly into a box.

“Since the afflicted live among the well, moments like these are bound to come. And with them a feeling of distance.

But it does not need to be a separating distance. Just as I must not demand that I understand everything God is doing in order to pray to him, I cannot expect others to understand everything I am experiencing in order for them to talk to me. The distance is real. The least I can do is come out to meet those who seek me.

I am the steward of this sacred distance. Since it is something I cannot erase, I shall become its curator instead.” Russ Ramsey from Struck 

This weekend my Sweet Man will have the opportunity to check something off his bucket list. He and his son will be attending the second round of the Masters Golf Tournament. I’m not sure who is more giddy, me or him. I’m so excited he will have this experience to tuck away in his memory.

While he is away, I am planning a full out writing day, complete with pajamas and Trader Joe’s pizza. I haven’t had pizza or potato chips since his open heart surgery! You should know, I’m a girl who firmly believes Lay’s potato chips are a vegetable. Lay’s served on the side with pizza, followed by a gigantic mocha brownie, is a delicacy like none other! Don’t judge me. (smile)

As I close my update from The Wilderness Place, the thunder has begun to rumble and rain is blowing sideways. Wicked lightning dances across sky. The flock of turkeys strutting in the field have taken to the trees. Sweet Lola has moved in close.

I’m looking forward to sharing more with you soon.

PS: This is my current favorite song. If you are a Wendell Berry fan, you will love it too!

Gifts of Grace