Out of the blue canopy of morning sky ring eager voices of wild geese trumpeting hope’s song, awakening the earth from winter’s slumber, a resurrection cry, a sign and foretaste  that all creation shall be renewed on that forever morning when their calls join another trumpet proclaiming the rising of the Son. By Heather J. Willis, author “I am making everything new!” ~Revelation 21:5a

Sometimes in life we need a winter season, a time of lying low and resting from our busyness.

Sometimes our own lives seem dry and bare as we go through difficult seasons.

Snow drapes through the forest, A white sheer Veiling trunks, gray, Giants emerging like shadows behind filmy white, Crisp, cold, quiet. Birds stitch a seam Across a cotton duvet; Their tiny claw prints disappear Beneath the next layer of frosting Along with the seeds They instinctively sought. A feathered ball balances On a sugared branch, puffy and warm. His chest warbles One cheery whistle defying Snow’s power to muffle sound. His song of hope echoes Through the somber tom

I often feel when New Year’s Day arrives that my life is like a book, and I’ve just turned the page to begin a new chapter. As I begin to write, there are central themes and a main plot that don’t change. There is consistency in the midst of the twists and turns of my story. For me, my main throughlines are my personality, my faith in God, relationships with my husband and daughter, and passion to write. Responsibilities, relationships, and how I fulfill the callings in my li

Is it possible there is still no room for Jesus at Christmastime?

November is a wizened sage...

When was the last time you worshiped God in a sanctuary of his own making?

Have you ever had that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when you stop and think about the brevity of life, and how little time you have left in the grand scheme of things, and whether your life will leave the legacy you had hoped?

The leaves gathered...yellowed with time's paintbrush.

We belong to the kingdom of angels, not goblins.

I had the uncanny feeling that I was in the presence of heavenly messengers.

I often feel that I am one very small drop in a sea of faces, and yet you are the God who sees each person.

God will magnify the smallest light-bringing efforts to dispel the darkness!

Oh! That nectar would've been sweet If Trumpet Vine had been the treat.

She dances with long-limbed willows Until summer air grows thin....

The Crippled deer

I saw a cardinal in a tree On Good Friday afternoon...

My God, you are the artist, The Sculptor who fashioned me One long-ago day, And loves me somehow Despite my fissures and flaws In clay...

Gino was the one who encouraged others.