November 11, 2013

Autumn gives a beautiful monologue of her Maker.  We took a little stroll around the neighborhood and lent her our ears today.  And our eyes.






Bravo.  Beautiful.


One of my favorite places.

September 7, 2012

Once a day — or at least every other day — my senses pull me to this rose garden near our home.  (Which is shorthand for saying I love the sights, scents, and sounds of this place and can’t stay away for too long. :])  Just a few minutes’ walk, and there it is.  Steps dipping into a garden that’s been almost carved into the side of the hill.  A sea of roses lovingly labeled, distinguishing one from the next.  A fountain cascading between parallel stairs.  A pool trying very hard to be a pond with a lily pad here and there.  Twisting paths and lanes and roads.  Squirrels who chase each other around trees.  Tall redwoods.  Never quite ripe blackberries.  And stillness.  Not a dead silence but kind of living, friendly stillness — if you get what I mean.

In the mornings, a cool mist hangs over the garden.  That’s probably my favorite time to go, before the day’s rush sets in.  A good rival is at evening twilight, walking with JE, or meandering off within sight as he runs up and down the stairs.

I haven’t brought my journal here yet.  I’m not sure if I will.  There’s something about the hush and beauty of this place that renders me silent, even in thought.  Not always of course, but more than any other place at the moment.  The beauty of His creation really does something to soothe my soul.  Death is not foreign to this garden, but along with the withering things are the sprouting, blossoming, growing things.  And while I can only see what’s above ground level, there’s a whole invisible world underneath and within that sustains what’s visible.  It’s good to remember that — for so many reasons.  The Gardener isn’t done with His work.  What’s dead isn’t always dead, what’s alive isn’t always alive.  But all are in good hands.  Under-gardeners helping, too.

This place is a hiding place of sorts.  But I rarely come here to hide, if ever.  I guess I love coming here because the beauty and soft thrum of growth — imperceptible to the eye — afford me a “heart at leisure from itself” and a heart at leisure from other “noise.”  It’s a sweet balm, this place, and my thoughts are just strung along … chirp to chatter, tree to blossom, steps to sky.  From nature to her nurturing Creator.

This is my Father’s world.  I rest me in the thought.

3 seasons and JD.

November 5, 2011

In the Bay Area this year, Subtle Autumn was ousted by Greedy Summer and Impatient Winter.  Or maybe Autumn was too shy and forgot her lines.

Either way, she was missed this year.

Maybe next year.

Hello, Winter.

And hello JD, our adorable ringbearer-to-beee.  :]  You in a winter beanie makes up for autumn’s loss.


June 28, 2011

This morning, after peeking outside, I concluded it must be a shorts and light sweater kind of day.  Several hours later, I’m shivering with a hot cup of chai as it pours outside.  No umbrella, no jacket, no closed shoes.

Oops.  Should’ve checked the forecast rather than base my day’s plans on a moment’s gauge.

But I’m enjoying the rain, too.  Midday, the sky was pretty indecisive.  Sunny?  Cloudy?  Warm?  Muggy?  Cool?  But there’s no doubt now, and it’s raining a very decisive, satisfying rain.

Was it the best decision?  Hard to say.  And neither sky nor I could judge such wisdom by the number of those pleased with the choice.  Unhappy commuters, happy coffee shop inhabitants (hello).  But the sky seems satisfied enough.

Maybe because it is enough that it submits to its Maker.

Into the heart of Heaven.

October 8, 2010

Photo by JohnE Kim.  :]

“I won’t ever destroy the world again.” And like a warrior who puts away his bow and arrow at the end of a great battle, God said, “See, I have hung up my bow in the clouds.”

And there, in the clouds — just where the storm meets the sun — was a beautiful bow made of light.

It was a new beginning in God’s world.

It wasn’t long before everything went wrong again but God wasn’t surprised, he knew this would happen.  That’s why, before the beginning of time, he had another plan — a better plan.  A plan not to destroy the world, but to rescue it — a plan to one day send his own Son, the Rescuer.

God’s strong anger against hate and sadness and death would come down once more — but not on his people, or his world.  No, God’s war bow was not pointing down at his people.

It was pointing up, into the heart of Heaven.

(Sally Lloyd-Jones, The Jesus Storybook Bible: Every Story Whispers His Name, pp. 46-47)


August 5, 2010

The weather’s been (almost) perfectly correlating the hidden life lately.  It’s summer, but it feels like autumn.  It’s summer, but it feels like spring.  It’s summer, but it feels like summer-elusive.  I suppose there’s something to be pondered there, too.  Is it summer only when it feels like summer?  Are the seasons prescribed, or are they described?

Thank God for truth that’s higher than these skies that shift and vary by the hour.

A new season.

June 21, 2010

Today’s the first day of summer.  It’s a new season.

The past three weeks have seen all sorts of weather.  Rain, shine, cloud, haze.  Some nights, it was hot enough to sleep without covers.  Some days, it was so cold and windy I had to bring out the winter fleece again.  Spring and Summer kind of dueled it out, didn’t they?  Summer tried to come too early, and the intrusion left Spring feeling somewhat tossled.  Bystanders felt minor shifts in the weather, but who knows what other transitional storms raged beyond human perception?

But today, the weather is mild and quiet.  Summer quietly speaks of warmth, and Spring is silent in the wings.  She’s surrendered after all.

No doubt, as the hymn says, this is my Father’s world. All is well.  And I rest me in the thought.