Category Archives: Uncategorized
Mid Afternoon Meditation 11-20-19
Lord, you are the God who saves me;
day and night I cry out to you.
2 May my prayer come before you;
turn your ear to my cry.
3 I am overwhelmed with troubles
and my life draws near to death.
4 I am counted among those who go down to the pit;
I am like one without strength.
5 I am set apart with the dead,
like the slain who lie in the grave,
whom you remember no more,
who are cut off from your care. Psalm 88: 1-5
What things make you feel powerless? What things make you feel powerful?
Share this:
Worship Wednesdays 11-20-19
Vicarage Catch Up
Vicarage Catch Up
Vicarage Catch Up
— Read on notesfromthevicarage.com/2019/11/20/vicarage-catch-up/
Share this:
The Romans 12 Cycle: Teacher
In the lavender
By the lake I write the
Stories. Very few will ever read. Too busy
With the summer sun to learn.
Autumn annotates
The footnotes of falling leaves.
The mountains are my
Tablet. I write with the ink
Bottled in the midnight skies.
I sip hot coffee
By the fire, a book in hand.
I thread the needle
With my tinder thoughts in the
Winter land’s cold hard facts.
Speak forth the gentle
Green of reason threaded through
The broken mirrors.
Pieces make sense reflected in
Reality’s tapestry.
I am not the year
Nor a season, month or day.
I am but minutes
Unmasking the threads
To the finished work, God’s hand
Share this:
A Photo A Week Challenge: Stylish
Here is a challenge I have not participated in for a while!
Nancy hosts A PHOTO A WEEK CHALLENGE AND THIS WEEK’S CHALLENGE IS THE WORD STYLISH.
You can click on the link above to discover how Nancy’s other contributors interpreted the challenge.
Here is my take.
Styling for another generation.
Share this:
Sacred Sundays 11-17-19
The Romans 12 Cycle: Prophet
A hot summer day,
Once again I read someone
Else’s mail. Sipping
Lemonade as I crochet
Edges of reality.
The leaves fall. As I
Count the dry bones, I breathe forth
The silence of death
Woven from mountains and skies
Which hem in the Beloved.
My breath twines with snow
Yet to come. They rebuke me
For seeing the dark,
But what choice was I given?
The winter is my needle.
Spring’s my thread of green.
New like the shards of broken
Mirrors. Pieces placed
Like manifold wisdom, glimpse
Reality’s tapestry
I am not the year
Nor a season, month or day.
I am but minutes
Who count the threads leading
To the finished work, God’s hand.
Share this:
Shoutin’ Saturdays 11-16-19
NaNoWriMo 2019: I Don’t Believe In Fate Except In…
I am sitting here in my new home office (which is the same as my old home office just with less junk). I have been poring over story details and thinking about my writing process this afternoon. For those of you who are theologians I am a Wesleyan Armenian not a Calvinist which in layman’s terms just means, if I am asked to choose between the idea of fate and free will I am going to lean towards free will every time. I am not a big believer in the idea that you cannot escape your fate. I am a big believer in the idea that you get to play a part in your destiny.
That said when it comes to the writing process, as I put pen to paper it feels more like I am just uncovering a story that is already written, not creating something new. The story is new to me, but I feel like it has been floating around in the spirit realm somewhere just waiting for someone to stumble upon it and give it form. I almost feel fated to write this thing….and so you see my problem.
Does anyone else feel this way as they put their own pens to their own pieces of paper? I anxiously await your input.
