it’s too much sometimes, isn’t it?
the six beat song of the cardinal
the green reach of the wintered plant
perennial as promised
emerging new once
“Therefore we do not lose heart…”
I don’t have a good answer.
In the throws of depression, grief, tragedy, I’ve often asked for prayers and felt unable to pray for myself.
But…maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.
Maybe God is near, but not in the ways we suspect. Not in a loud voice or a burning bush. Not in an earthquake or a storm, but rather…
…in the prayer of a friend who cries out for you.
…in the steady fall of rain on a spring garden.
…in the memory of someone who believed in you years ago.
…in the taste of warm soup on a cold winter day.
…in the curl of a dog’s wagging tail when you get home in the evening.
In my new novel, Then Sings My Soul, the main characters (Jakob and Nel) are asking the same question. What they find you. Read their story and how they find hope. Available wherever your favorite books are sold.
before you did
what you did
helpless like you once were
too, fresh and pure and
well things turn awful
red when they’re left growing
wide open in
the hot sun scorching the pretty
little petals until
the first frost
and then after
winter cold and white
the hot crimson petals
push through and