The World Depends Upon The Small Beating

The Feminine Journey Is A Story Unfolding, And Its Epiphanies Come Through Real Things, Through Tangibles Like Walking Sticks And Dreams And Deer Antlers--all Of Which We Might Miss Without Taking Time And Space In Deep Being.

I'm Tired Of Carrying Around The Weight Of The World. I'm Just Going To Lay It Down Now. It's My Time To Die, And It's Your Time To Live. Don't Mess It Up.

God Is At The Tip Of Our Scalpels, Our Screwdrivers, Our Computer Terminals, Our Dust Rags, Our Vacuum Cleaners, Our Pencils And Pens. He Is With Us In Our Wheelchairs, Or On Our Hospital Beds, When All We Can Do Is Sit Or Lie Flat. When We Envision Him And His Purpose In What We Do, Then We Begin To Grow Aware Of His Presence In The Middle Of It. We Are Able To Engage In Our Inward Conversation With Him As We Work, Naturally, Without Strain. He Becomes Our Partner, Our Collaborator.

So I Taught Sunday School And Brought Dishes To All Manner Of Potlucks And Tried To Adjust The Things I Heard From The Pulpit To My Increasingly Incongruent Faith.

The Redness Had Seeped From The Day And Night Was Arranging Herself Around Us. Cooling Things Down, Staining And Dyeing The Evening Purple And Blue Black.