Words have been hard to find lately and it’s all about transitions—this welcoming of summer brings with it the sweet wet of watermelon on the tongue and more demands at work and home and church. The beauty of this love-busy has me wrapped in a thick cocoon and sometimes…it feels like I can’t breathe.
In the morning, I lie in the floor in our meeting place and study the cobwebs on the ceiling and recount to God all the things I’ve been blessed to have on my to-do list today. And then I do the thing that my first spiritual director told me she does every morning. This is what I have planned, I say. But if you have other ideas, please feel free.
Always, the plans get changed.
There are young hearts who need me and they are welcoming summer too. So we go through this transition together and I learn from them what it means to truly open the hand. This morning the rain falls—a fine mist over my garden—and I smile because…this changes the plans.
Jeffrey goes out back and stands in the stuff—a living rain meter. When he comes back in, he hugs me all wet, then announces he’s going for a run in the rain. It’s one of my favorite things, but he doesn’t know this and I feel a tiny love tap on my heart.
Yesterday, I harvested the last of the lettuce and kale and Teddy found a recipe for kale soup I want to try. There will be salad for lunch for days but the broccoli isn’t ready yet. This cocoon feels good but it is permeable and life keeps interfering with my development inside. But I know it’s about more than the physical and transformation sometimes feels like the fallout from a mortar blast.
I think about the Caddisfly lady. How she collects the larvae of the Caddisfly and takes them home to her lab. These little critters make cocoons out of tiny stones in the creek beds and headwaters where they live naturally. The Caddisfly lady puts semiprecious stones into the stream ecosystems in her lab and the cocoons these little artists make are beautiful. The Caddisfly lady then makes and sells jewelry from the abandoned cocoons after the larvae mature.
My caddisfly bracelet is made from sodalite. Can you see the beautiful cocoon bead?
God puts all these beautiful pebbles into my ecosystem too. But some days it feels like I’m still trying to make my cocoon out of mud. That’s what feels natural. But if I want life to become art, I need to pay better attention to these gems God surrounds me with. Choose better.
Because, even the transitions can be beautiful. 
Blogging in community with Michelle and Jen today. Love you girls!
And also with my sweet friend Jennifer: 

And Emily too:


  1. says

    Just want you to know I see ya… just not feeling entirely well as of late.

    I love how you made cocoon into an action word. A slow action word.


  2. says

    I with you. The transition into summer often takes me off guard, I feel like a turtle among rabbits. But that’s okay. I say that pray too and its brought some beautiful unexpected blessings that looked like interruptions at first. Have a great weekend Laura.

  3. says

    Beautiful photos. Ebony sunbathes on our ottoman, too. 🙂 May you find your cocoon of love-busy to be a shelter, protecting the fragile metamorphosis, and not a prison cell.

  4. says

    Laura – As always – wonderful writing. I understand the words being hard to find – I can’t seem to find any. So I am quiet. Spend the days with hands in the dirt, chasing the growing grandbaby, and letting the occasionally breeze slide over the skin. Pay attention – that is what I need to hear. Blessings to you.

  5. says

    Oh, I understand that feeling-love the way you worded it- making cocoon out of mud. I’m always wanting transitions to be smoother and look prettier, but God’s at work in all those threads of mud and change. And indeed, He offers jewels in the midst of it all. Praying for you to see those 🙂 Love you heart and your honesty.

  6. says

    I’ve cocooned lately with transitions I am savoring. Both your post and top photo capture it well.

    When words are scarce, much activity too deep for words can be going on below the surface. I treasure these times that used to frustrate me because of their feeling unproductive, knowing now God will supply words again when He has something He wants me to say. I don’t need to rush Him. This has been a watershed lesson for me.

    I want to see and savor all the pebbles in my ecosystem.

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