Welcome January.


“You’ve got some work to do girl.” Is what my husband said to me this evening as I discovered the last time I posted anything on my blog was November 4th.  Eeks. I can’t believe American Thanksgiving, Christmas, and now New Year’s has come to an end. Wowza. Well, life remains the unpredictable honored guest, and time, its silent beat we are unable to escape.

I have been contemplating, reflecting and investigating my life. This sometimes can be a dangerous thing, for it causes me to go inward and sometimes I can stay there too much. It is almost like my inner mind is my hide out, my safe place, my undercover shelter that I can retreat to, but wonder at the same time why. I have to discipline myself to shut myself off at times, for escaping into a place where the secrets lie,the dark truths, the serious questions, can cause me to internally dance the dance of utmost freedom. It is like a freedom from the snares of the predictable or from the near sighted.

I seem to lose focus on the divine and taste of the earthly when this time of year comes. Another new year and I am not much different from the last. However, I have seen more, heard more, and felt more. I have touched brokenness above me and brokenness beside me. My raw knuckled hands, from banging on the door of God to open to me, lay wearily on the hearts of the lost, the dying, as well as the living. We are in this together, yet we don’t always see it.  Maybe we don’t believe it. However, we are in it. It is our reality and we are its infiltrator.



Image Credit: Henriette-Lucy Dillon, North Pearl Street, Albany 1800


Some days we have nothing more to say other than the word the baffled King himself would say, “Hallelujah.” We carry questions around our necks like precious, sacred jewellery. Sometimes these questions overwhelm, overtake, and over restrain us in a way in which we become stricken by the jagged burden of the deep pain done to a loved one, done to us. We can become possessive, protective, and even particular with this undistinguishable heaviness. Sometimes this piece is not ours to carry, or wear. Actually, it never is intended for us to claim ownership of. We must return it, to give away that which was never meant for us to take in the first place. We can do this with our children, our parents, our friends, our community, our nation, or our world. We fight ourselves with indignant weaponry. Is it for survival or for death? The only answer is love. Love outside. Love inside. Outside of our thickened walls of protection and inside the most vulnerable places unshielded to self. Deep sadness, fear, disbelief, and disappointment has no echo, only a constant sound than can be hindered by the gentle whisper of hope.