A Thousand Pounds of Intimidation

My family had horses when I was growing up.

But.

I never felt at ease around them.

Mostly.

Because of their size.

But also.

Because I never learned how to ride them.

My dad's way of teaching.

Was to put me on a horse.

Slap it on the rump.

Expecting me to be a natural.

Needless to say.

That didn't happen.

It was twenty years later.

Before I got on a horse again.

A similar experience.

My dad booked my brothers & me.

On an overnight horseback trip.

In Wyoming.

What could go wrong?

As you might imagine.

My natural ability to ride.

Had not grown in those twenty years.

Neither had my experience or training.

I was no longer just uneasy.

I was downright scared.

And intimidated.

The horse clearly had me pegged.

Within minutes of the ride.

My horse spooked.

He ran ahead at a full gallop.

Me screaming and hanging on for dear life.

My interest in horses ended that day.

I thought - for good.

Fast forward.

Twenty more years later.

A friendship at church.

Led me to a therapeutic horse program.

"God's Legacy Ranch"

Scott started volunteering and riding about two years ago.

I became more comfortable with feeding and brushing.

I learned about the unique giftedness of horses.

Especially their ability to connect with people.

I learned horses can hear a human heartbeat.

From four feet away.

They can also sense a troubled spirit.

Or a gentle one.

I experienced it for myself last week.

With Radar.

Undergoing treatment for cancer in his nose and eye.

He has his own set of troubles.

But on that particular afternoon.

He willingly ministered to mine.

I went inside the corral.

Slowly walked his way.

Stopped.

Gently reached up to stroke his mane.

And his cheek.

Radar didn't pull away.

I got closer.

Leaned my face close to his.

Whispered in his ear.

"Hey boy."

"You feeling okay?"

"I'm sorry you've had a tough time."

"Good boy."

Radar listened.

And stood completely still.

I leaned in closer.

He did the same.

His face.

Right up against mine.

For what seemed like several minutes.

I soaked in his tenderness.

And his stillness.

And, surprisingly,

His size.

A thousand pound creature.

Who seemed to trust me.

And in return.

I trusted him.

My heart was soothed that afternoon.

I needed it.

Maybe Radar did too.

My spirit was strengthened.

And encouraged.

By a thousand pounds.

Of intimidation.

 

If you'd like more information on "God's Legacy Ranch," follow them on Facebook.  This 501(C)3 organization is located in Honea Path, SC.

What The Heck Do I Do Now?

I always thought my life was pretty full.

Retirement, however.

Has redefined me.

Whether I expected it to.

Or not.

I could never understand co-workers or friends.

Who CHOSE to work on.

Well into their seventies -- even eighties.

Craziness.

It made no sense.

That would never be me!

I was ready.

My responsibilities were demanding.

I carried them over a very long career.

Work was a BIG part of my day to day life.

And very much.

A big part of my identity.

When I knew the time was right.

I planned for retirement.

I dreamed about retirement.

I could hardly wait for retirement.

And while I have zero regrets about taking that step.

I was totally unprepared for what it would bring.

I'd like to say.

It's been an easy transition.

That I've thrived.

That I've become the best version of myself.

That would not be true.

I reluctantly share.

Admit.

It's been a struggle.

Maybe some of you can relate.

It might be any transition we face as women.

Going from single to married.

Bringing children into the world.

A job change or promotion.

Caring for an aging parent.

Empty nest.   

Divorce.   

Widowhood.  

My retirement came without an instruction book.

The sad thing is.

I didn't think I needed one.

Experts have since told me.

Find a new life rhythm.

Create structure.

Focus on health & exercise.

Volunteer.

Enjoy your grandchildren.

Travel.

I've done all those things.

But, the unsettledness continues.

And I seem no closer to figuring this out.

My passion is restoring old houses.

I love taking something worn down & undesirable.

And turning it into something useful and beautiful.

In the last month.

I searched out a new project.

Another old house.

We've had inspections done.

And estimates gathered.

My husband patiently walked through the process with me.

And then gently asked the question.

What happens when you finish another house?

Will you still feel as lost as you do now?

Fair question.

Wrestling these issues out has not been easy.

I'm finding that God intends for me to walk.

Maybe even crawl through this season.

Everything in me resists that.

Everything in me wants to bolt and run!

Get the answers I need.

And get to the other side.

Clearly.

That's not how it works.

He wants my intentional prayer.

He wants for me to share with Him how I feel.

And trust Him to give the answers I need.

He's also wanting me to be.

Patient.

When all I want to do is just want to is get on with it!

Today.

I'm trying very hard.

To give myself some grace.

As this unfolds.

As I figure out.

Maybe along with some of you.

What the heck do I do now?

  

Not So Great at Reflecting

I've been listening to a podcast over the last few weeks.

"The Next Right Thing" by Emily P. Freeman.

I give my oldest daughter credit for the suggestion.

(She likes the acknowledgement.)

Emily's voice is soothing and easy to listen to.

And.

I like her outlook on life.

She said in a recent episode.

(I'm paraphrasing.)

"It's important to reflect on the things that happen to you.

And.

It's in that reflection. 

That you have a better chance of making sense of it.

Consider how it impacted you.

Gain some perspective.

And hopefully.

Through that reflection.

We can learn.

 And move forward."

As the title of this blog suggests.

I've done very little reflecting.

Especially in this last year.

Plenty has happened in my life.

Just as I'm sure it has in yours.

I walked through my dad's terminal illness.

And sat with him as he took his last breath.

Other things don't seem as important.

But they were still my experiences.

Downsizing a lifetime of possessions and moving into a new home.

Beginning retirement.

I see the benefit.

Of not just walking through my life experiences and plowing ahead.

But actually taking the time to think them through.

For me, reflection comes easiest by journaling.

Writing down.

Seeing my words on paper.

Taking some time to consider what happened.

Making sense of it.

When that's possible.

More time reflecting.

That's on my list of things to do.

Battle Worn & In My Pajamas

 Okay.

The title may be a tad bit dramatic.

Still.

I found myself yesterday.

Home.

With a scheduled day off.

A bit.

Battle worn.

And in my pajamas.

All 

day.

I mean.

All day.

Sun up to sundown.

Can anyone else relate?

Now,

before anyone gets overly concerned.

I'm thankful I could take the day.

No responsibilities.

Or children to look after.

Just myself.

I probably needed the day.

To be idle.

And still.

Brought on by a season of life.

Not just unique to me.

The loss of a parent.

Moving.

Ending a long career.

All normal, life happenings.

But none the less.

A season of change and challenge.

Thankfully.

I gave myself some grace.

To sit.

Okay.

It was more like vegetate.

While the world passed me by yesterday.

Inside my house.

Eating only cereal and popsicles.

And dark chocolate.

Binge watching "Alias."

and "Fixer Upper."

But.

Sitting.

Resting.

Regrouping.

Journaling.

Praying.

Considering.

The day was likely coming for a while.

And it was what I needed.

Thankful.

That as a new day dawns.

I'll begin to feel stronger.

And find my way forward.

With His help and direction.

I sense there's a new season on the horizon.

And good that will come.

From where I've been.

And my day in my pajamas.

"When you feel flustered and frazzled on the outside,

do not feel upset with yourself.  You are only human,

and the swirl of events going on all around you will 

sometimes feel overwhelming.  Rather than scolding 

yourself for your humanness, remind yourself that I

am both with you and within you.  Slow down your

pace of living for a time.....peace be with you."

"Jesus Calling" Sarah Young

 

A Season of Change

 I've always thrived with change.

Most of my life, anyway.

Change has kept me challenged.

On my toes.

Engaged.

It's brought fresh starts.

New ways of looking at things.

Different perspectives.

That kind of change.

But I'm also learning.

There's different kinds of change.

Change that comes from moving on.

Closing one season or chapter of life.

Because it's the right time.

Or just the right thing to do.

My retirement is coming in about five months.

From a place that's brought me great friendships.

And the work is meaningful.

It's exciting.

And a bit terrifying.

But change is coming.

We've also been preparing for a change with where we live.

The choice to move from a big house.

To a smaller one.

Change that comes from simplifying and downsizing.

Letting go of space.

And what's familiar.

Letting go of things.

And where you've invested yourself.

There's that kind of change.

Change can also come from unplanned loss.

I've been learning about that too.

I lost my dad a few weeks ago.

My brothers and I walked through a short,

but terminal illness with him.

With hardly time to take it in.

The change of losing a parent.

Has shifted everything.

 In an unexpected way.

Ways I'm just beginning to see.

So.

Today.

With all the change around me.

Some brought on by my own devises.

Or timing.

Some not welcomed at all.

I step back.

Take some time off.

To work in my garden.

Talk to my mom.

Write.

Pray.

Get on the floor for yoga.

And stretching.

Maybe take a nap.

Love on my cats.

Slow down the day.

And the pace of things.

To be good to myself.

And take in.

This season of change.

"If He gave us no rough roads to walk, no mountains to climb and no battles to fight, we would not grow. He does not leave us alone with our challenges, however.  Instead he stands beside us, teaches us & strengthens us to face them."

(Read in my study notes from Psalm 18 this morning.)

Embracing the Sheep in Me

This is so me.

I've made a strong.

Personal connection to these faces.

And this creature.

I am so --- a sheep.

Especially when it comes to my faith.

A friend planted the idea in my mind a few weeks ago.

She heard a teacher describing our close connection to sheep.

As followers of Jesus.

I connected instantly to the comparison.

Because.

In my faith.

I've been.

Indecisive.

Helpless.

I've been frightened easily.

I've been.

Romantic.

Irresponsible.

Passive.

Emotional.

With no sense of direction.

Maybe not all the time.

But more times than I'd care to admit.

When it comes to spiritual matters.

I learned that sheep will often settle for less.

When they are thirsty.

They'll stop to drink from a dirty puddle right in front of them.

Instead of drinking from still waters.

Twenty feet ahead.

During this pandemic.

I've sorely missed fellowship.

And relationships outside of my workplace and my immediate family.

I've felt more vulnerable.

And more isolated.

As I've looked at this comparison more.

I learned something interesting.

Just about all domesticated animals.

Can be returned to the wild.

And have a decent chance of surviving.

But, not a sheep.

Without a shepherd,

Sheep are in trouble.

Easy prey.

They can't defend themselves very easily.

But.

They have a remarkable instinct.

For knowing the voice of the shepherd.

"I am the good shepherd.

The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.

The hired hand is not the shepherd.

And does not own the sheep.

So when he sees the wolf coming,

he abandons the sheep and runs away.

Then the wolf attacks the flock.

And scatters it.

The man runs away.

Because he is a hired hand.

And cares nothing for the sheep.

I am the good shepherd;

I know my sheep.

And my sheep know me -

just as the Father knows me

And I know the Father -

And l lay down my life for the sheep."    John 10: 11-15

So.

I'm trying to embrace.

The sheep in me.

Glancing Forward

It's been months now since I've written.

I've heard that creativity is one of the first things to go.

During seasons of stress.

And responsibility.

That's been so true for me these last months..

Maybe for you as well.

But.

I read something recently that I loved.

It came from my study notes in the book of Hebrews.


During a time when the rug has been pulled out from under

life as we know it -

It was simple.

And spoke to me.

"Love your family,

Your spouse

Your job

And your church,

but set your sights beyond the horizon.

You are an activist,

Invested in witnessing to a needy world,

but take frequent glances 

toward a promised community still to come.

You're a gardener,

And a builder,

shaping environments,

turning weeds into something beautiful,

painting

and patching

and clearing -

but,

you know God is building something 

far more beautiful

and breathtaking

just for you."

Thankful to be walking through

Not taking up permanent residence in this world.

Thankful for the future He has promised me.

The Best Moments

I led my very first team with 410 Bridge a month ago.

First time - solo leading - that is.

Eleven women and me.

And these women were.

Very strong.

Solid.

Good hearted.

Women who love Jesus.

We served in Chembulet.

A small farming community in western Kenya.

It was my first time there.

And it turned out to be.

One of the most impactful trips of my life.

Here are some of my favorite moments.


1)   Through Their Eyes

Seeing Kenya through the eyes of someone whose never been there before.

It's always so much fun for me!

It's almost like experiencing Kenya for the first time myself.

Just -- all over again.

I LOVE it!

These women left home over the Thanksgiving Holiday to serve with me.

They showed courage and hutzpah!

It was an amazing thing to behold.

I LOVED seeing this trip through their eyes!

2)  Meeting with Chembulet's widows


We took a message on prayer to share with the widows in this community.

I've seen close friends walk through the loss of a husband in this country.

It's no different there.

It's devastating.

And life changing.

But what is different,

Is the lack of a safety net for these women in Kenya.

Resources for them are limited - non-existent.

No life insurance.

No financial support for their children.

Most of them have never worked outside the home.

If they're part of a local church,

They do find spiritual and community support.

We saw that.

But it's obviously a very, very hard path.

It's hard to say this was a "best" moment.

But it will be one of my most memorable ones.

Looking into their faces.

And just seeing their pain.

One widow shared that her husband had cheated on her many times.

And infected her with AIDS.

He died.

Leaving her with six children to raise.

There was no light in her eyes at all.

Her eyes were completely vacant.

Devoid of any hope

I'll never forget her face.



We were told that Kenyans often think of Americans as having a perfect life.

Because of the transparency and courage of my teammates.

These widows learned differently.

One teammate shared her own experience with being abused.

Another shared her story of neglect and wrong choices.

Another described what it was like to lose her own husband just a few years ago.

Two others filled the meeting room with their powerful voices in song.

I watched the faces of the widows.

They must have been surprised.

That our stories often mirrored theirs.

One woman took her shawl and pulled it up to face.

Wiping tears from her eyes.

Others nodded.

In understanding.

I hope we encouraged them that day.

I think we did.

But they deeply impacted us.

It was a best moment of the trip.

3.    So welcomed

I've visited several communities in Kenya over the years.

None.

Were as welcoming as Chembulet.

Wherever we went.

On house to house visits.

Worshiping in the local churches on Sunday.

Spending "A Day in the Life" with families.

Learning how to cook traditional meals in their kitchens.

They welcomed us.

With open arms.

More than open arms.

With open souls and hearts.

On Sunday, we were made honorary elders in the church.

The women of the church wrapped our heads with special scarves.

Reserved for the honor.

During the community's welcoming ceremony,

We were all presented a hand carved stick.

Making us full members of Chembulet.

They told us the sticks represented authority.

And respect.

It was a symbolic and functional tool as well.

I went to Chembulet unsure how an all-women's team would be received.

I was blown away by their love for us.

It was quite an honor.

And definitely.

One of my best moments.

4.    The Courage of My Team

We did a lot of things in those 10 days.

We saw the beautiful vegetables and plants produced,

in 410 Bridge's  "Foundations for Farming" program.

We saw the drilling sites for fresh water,

where 410 Bridge is working to provide water for the community.

We toured a local health clinic.

And spent an afternoon with young girls in the area,

talking with them about being a woman of dignity.

We watched the mamas in the community laughing & competing in a game called "the Knot."

And witnessed giraffes and a herd of elephants walking feet from our vehicle on safari.

We got to put our feet in the compound where Danee & LJ Davis and their kids are serving

in Nairobi.

Living out their lives in one of the biggest slums of the country.

But nothing.

Nothing on this trip.

Impacted me more.

Than the courage I saw.

From the women I served with on this team.

It's always easier to just stay home.

Where it's safe.

And comfortable.

And predictable.

Where you generally know what to expect.

These eleven women didn't do that.

They got on a plane.

Flew over 18 hours.

To the other side of the world.

To serve in Chembulet, Kenya.

They said yes to doing the hard things.

For some.

The hard thing was just going.

For others.

It was sharing very painful and personal stories in their lives.

And singing.

Or leading team devotions.

Or sharing at evening debriefs.

But, they did it.

Sometimes, with trembling hands.

Sometimes, with shaky voices.

But, they did it.

I loved this group of women.

And I admired their courage.

They came home safe and sound.

But different.

That always happens.

And the process of how that happens.

Is always my best moments.

I'll be leading another team of women to Chembulet, Kenya with 410 Bridge in 2020.
If you'd like an amazing opportunity to grow in your faith and serve, reach out to me.   It could very well be one of the most memorable adventures of your life.  

Forfeiting Peace

God must look at me sometimes.

And shake His head.

I get that.

Because.

How many times.

Do I forfeit the peace.

He would love to give me.

Because of my own lack of trust.

In Him.


I've been reading this week in Genesis.

Sarah was told she would have a son.

But like me.

She doubted.

She worried.

She was afraid.

She forfeited the peace.

She could have felt.

She could have enjoyed.

If she had trusted Him to do what He said He would do.


I do the same thing.

During that space and time.

Between praying for something.

And seeing Him work it out.

I worry.

Like others in Genesis.

I take matters into my own hands.

Thinking He really must need my help.

I doubt.

I fear.

And I forfeit peace.




"....I look into your mind and see thoughts spinning round and round;

going no where, accomplishing nothing.

All the while, My peace hovers over you,

watching for a place to land.

Be still in My presence,

inviting Me to control your thoughts.

This is the most effective way to receive

My peace."       -- Sara Young

Buddy

He'd been hanging out in our neighborhood in Greenwood.

For weeks.

Shaggy.

Friendly.

Adorable.

All of our neighbors called him by name.

Buddy.

Even now as I think about that.

It's so weird.

Because.

As it turned out.

Buddy didn't belong to anyone in our neighborhood.

At first.

He drifted from house to house.

And then he settled in with us.

We started asking around.

Everybody in Fawnbrook said the same thing.

"He belongs to someone down the street."

But that didn't turn out to be quite true.

We walked our entire subdivision.

Door to door.

Asking if anyone knew who he belonged to.

No one knew.

We checked with the animal shelter.

But to no avail.

That "someone down the street."

Was never found.

That was 15 years ago.

Buddy joined our family.

We gave him a home.

And he gave us quite a lot more.

Love.

Loyalty.

Miles of walks together.

Gentleness.

Acceptance.

I think we came out ahead in the deal.

He was the best.

Buddy.

Loved mud puddles.

Drinking from them.

And walking through them.

He loved to chase squirrels.

And the freedom of a full out run.

He loved to go on walks around Due West.

And roll in the scent or remains of something dead.

He loved our neighbors, the Wilson's.

Cooler weather.

And rolling in the dirt.

While he tolerated our cats.

They adored him.

Which always made him a little nervous, lol.





This last year.

He started to decline.

At 17.

He was an old guy by dog years.

He became thinner.

His back legs grew weak.

His hearing was completely gone.

The light.

That was always in his eyes.

Was all but completely gone.

Scott was Buddy's favorite human.

And he took it hardest of all.

Friday.

We showed Buddy our last act of friendship and love.

In making the decision to put him down.

We said goodbye.

Rubbing his face and ears.

On the vet's table.

Telling him what a good boy he had always been.

Face to face.

Nose to nose.

Not ashamed of all the tears we shed.

As he fell asleep.

We brought Buddy home.

And buried him in a spot we can see from our kitchen window.

The rest of our animal family seemed to sense he was gone.

Gus especially.

He laid out in the middle of the back yard.

Inside Buddy's fence.

For a long time Friday night.

Lucy just watched.



What a sweet blessing he was.

I'm thankful for these years with you.


Sweet friend.

When I Make God Small

When I stand at the edge of the ocean.

Or look out the window of a plane.

It's easy for me to remember.

God is big.

And I am small.



But many times in my life.

When I'm in the routine of my day to day.

When my week ahead is all I see.

And I'm all about my plans.

What I want to do.

How I feel.

What I see.

Without even being aware of it.

I make God small.



It's in those times.

He's limited to my life experiences.

And my point of view.

He definitely needs my help.

I jump in and work things out.

And then.

Ask for his okay.

I see things through the lens of me.

The universe.

Is most definitely.

Revolving.

 Around me.




When I make God small.

I loom big.

So does my place in the world.





Thankfully.

He's patient.

And good to me.

It only takes a shift.

In my circumstances.

Or a disruption in my little world.

And then I see.

Oh, yeah.

Now I remember who you are.

You are God.

And you are not small.



You raised the Tetons.

 And filled the oceans.

You know the heart of every person on the planet.

And you've seen every generation pass through since the beginning of time.

But in a more personal way.

You've allowed me to know you.

During hardships.

And prayers.

Some answered.

And others not.

You've provided for me in a million different ways.

And made sure.

I always knew.

You care.



I may forget sometimes.

But.

Thankfully.

It's not for long.

And you wait patiently on me.

When I.

Make you small.

Room for the Davis's

They came home.

All six of them.

For ten weeks this summer.

Home from a full year of serving in Nairobi.

They are close as family to us anyway.

And we had plenty of room to spare.

Twelve suitcases rolled in that first night back.

A borrowed twin mattress was walked down the street from a neighbor.

And brought upstairs.

They were a sight for sore eyes.



The Davis's were in and out all summer.

Catching up with their families and friends.

Telling their story countless times.

To churches.

And groups.

And supporters.

Making sure the kids had time to just be kids.

Swimming, camping, beach trips, fast food, fun.

And hopeful God would provide what they needed.

Before it was time for the return back.



And.

It was no surprise to me.

At all.

That He did.

I'd love to share all the details.

Of how it all unfolded.

But, it's enough just to say.

He came through.

Boy, did He come through.



One donor covered school fees.

So the Davis kids could attend a safe, private, Christian school.

Another heard their story.

And provided for a much needed used car for them to get around.

Donations were given to support the orphanage and the children where they serve.

For beds and provisions and care.

Support came from everywhere.

Churches, and groups and people saw what we did in them.

Something quite special.

Something you don't see very often.

Not perfect people.

But people who live out what they believe.

With guts and backbone.

No pretense.

No religious mumbo jumbo.

Just the real deal.

The very real deal.

We made room for the Davis's this summer.

All six of them.

And when they flew back.

The twin mattress got walked back down the street.

To it's owner.

Borrowed vans got returned to Molly & Glenn.

And Danee's sister.

Family and friends settled back into a familiar, long distance relationship.

And the Davis's.

Went back.

Encouraged.

Provided for.

Loved.

And with certainty.

Which is a really good thing to have.

If you'd like to support LJ & Danee Davis as they serve in Nairobi, Kenya in the coming year, use their paypal account to give securely online:

paypal.me/davismovetokenya

or mail a check to LJ Davis, c/o The Dublin's at 8 Bonner Street, Due West, SC 29639.    I'll make sure your donation is deposited directly into their account.

You can also follow the Davis's on their facebook page: Danielleandlj Davis.

Pray for them this year.   LJ, Danee, Sonoma, Bob, Garrett & Alizah Davis.

They've got a lot of work ahead of them.

On Turning 60

"....It's only a number...."

Said to me by reassuring friends.

That are already.

Over 60.

"....It's all downhill from there..."

Said to me by a never encouraging younger brother.

"...You've never been more beautiful..."

Said to me by my husband.

(I know.)

He's ridiculous.



And.

Even this morning.

As the weekend of my 60th birthday approaches.

Jesus seemed to weigh in too.

In His usual.

Personal way.

I'm reading through Psalm right now.

And this morning,

Here's what He had for me in Chapter 92.

"..14:  even in old age they will still produce fruit;
they will remain vital and green."

(He has such a sense of humor!)



I know I'm not old.

But somewhere.

In all that I've heard and read.

About turning 60.

Is how I'm taking it in.

For me.

It's like approaching the curve on Fortner Mountain where I grew up.

I can't see around the bend.

It's hidden.

And a bit of a mystery.

I'm not sure what 60 will look like.

But I know who I am.

And I know what I believe.

I have people around me that love and care for me.

I'm healthy.   And strong.

I hope to keep my hands open.

Even when it gets hard.

To give.

And to receive.

Whatever He has for me.

And I hope.

60 brings me a fresh appreciation.

And even more gratitude.

For the things I hold close to my heart.

To live intentionally.

Every single day I have.

Focusing on what's important.

With peace.

And joy.

To be a voice of encouragement.

And strength.

In a world that often is not.

To love.

And to be.

The very best me.

That I can be.

Turning 60.

Grab Your Pen!

I grab my pen!

(That may be a generational thing.)

Although.

I do sometimes grab my phone.

To jot it down.

Before it slips away.

The thing is.

I'm finding.

When I build in the space.

Quiet space in my day.

Driving into work.

In the early morning with a cup of coffee.

Just to be still.

And listen.

Without distractions.

He will drop thoughts.

Ideas.

Answers to questions.

Solutions.

Inspiration.

Direction.

Into my thoughts.

If I'm asking.

I saw it happen this week.

More than once.

I needed the right words.

For an issue that was troubling me.

I needed to know how to handle a situation.

That I didn't have the answer for.

I provided Him some space in my morning.

In my quiet time.

In my living room.

Just to be still.

And He dropped His guidance onto me.

Like that one drop of rain.

That rolls off the overhead roof.

Just as you duck in the door.

Not in a mystical or wonky way.

But clear and direct.

Simple.

There's no way it came from me.

I was asking.

And He gave it to me.

For me.

Having God be so personal.

To give me the solution....the answer I needed.

Man!

I loved it!

I literally jumped up.

(Or in the instance when I was quietly driving into work,

 I reached for a pen in my bag.)

To scribble down what I felt Him say over me.

There it was.

By just giving Him space.

To be quiet.

To listen.

And be ready to grab my pen.

BeeBee

I didn't know what it would look like.

When I became.

"beebee."

But.

I took one look at this little man.

And though I had no idea.

What I was in for.

He.

Stole.

Me.

Heart.

And soul.

I become silly.

And light.

Completely in the moment.

In his company.

We run.

And skip.

And sit in the swing.

We hold hands.

And laugh.

And sing.

We make up stories.

About cowboy Amos.

Lassoing alligators.

And going on adventures.

With his trusty pup-pup.

We take naps.

And test the patience of the cats.

We eat popcicles.

And make lots of Facetime calls.

But.

The best part.

Of all.

The surprising part.

Is the love.

He gives to me.

His beebee.

It's been simple.

And sweet.

Pure.

And unexplainable.

This love I have for him.


It came.

Out.

Of no where.

And.

It's been the easiest thing.

I've ever.

Done.