Small Wonders











In the morning, when the air is still heavy with moisture, I walk Bonnie around the house. The sun is barely peeking, light sifting down, revealing the secrets of dawn. The wind has carried petals from my neighbor’s tulips into my yard, a whisper of red sparks a memory. I stop to see and I smell my lilacs, riding the dew. We walk around back and I snip a few stems for the kitchen table.

The day begins in perfume, the house is a celebration.

Look, what do you see? In what joy do you begin the morning today? Breathe slowly, see deeper, love where you are.

There are gifts all around you.


a spring poem

“It is snowing,”
they laugh
as petals come down
and I
a bride
fragrant confetti.


Artist Date: Apiary

When the goldenrod bend their heads low in the meadow behind my house, I visit the apiary.
“That’s how you know the goldenrod is nectaring,” the beekeeper tells me on the telephone. “The tops fall over.” I’ve been trying to visit the honeybees for weeks now, but each morning when I call, the bee man tells me he’s too busy or the conditions aren’t right. “This isn’t a good day for working bees,” he says. “Let’s keep our eyes to the sky and see what Mother Nature throws us.”
Every day I check the weather. I stand out on the porch in the early morning and feel storms brewing in the air. In the night, I dream of honey. When I awaken, I carry a memory of amber—a dewy sweetness on my tongue.
I’m talking about the honeybees over at Tweetspeak poetry today. Will you join me?

Playdates with God: Art Walk

Listen! The only things that matter are your footfalls and the steady beating of your heart. Stand in a patch of sun spilling through the canopy of trees. Slide your hand across the skin of a mossy rock. Close your eyes and inhale the scent of the years of decay that created the fertile soil where you stand.

In this forest, you have everything you need for resurrection. Let your soul awaken from the long sleep.

Listen? There have been messages left behind. Paw prints and hooves, scat…initials carved in a tree. Everywhere you go someone has gone before. You will never be alone in this long journey. If you try, you can feel the unseen. Have you tried? Have you offered up your reason, have you let go of the weight of understanding? Lift up the need for proof and let the wind carry it. Then you will find evidence—deep inside of you. Open your heart to possibility. Let hope bloom in your inside places.

Today, touch everything with love. The spider spins in secret but the morning dew gives him away. There is nothing in your heart that is not known.

Listen. Is there not wonder in every living thing? Is there not beauty in every blade of grass?

Close your eyes. Do you see?

The five winners of Billy Coffey’s new novel When Mockingbirds Sing are Heather, Linda Stoll, Sharon O. Susan Etole, and Amy Jones. Congratulations! I’ll be in touch but if you see this first, email your snail to 

Today at The High Calling, Nancy Franson leads us in our discussion of Chip and Dan Heath’s book Decisive. Join us? You might want to join the network while you’re over there.

How do you embrace the God-joy? Every Monday I’ll be sharing one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find Him. Be with Him. Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us:
 The Playdates button:

Days of Wonder: Friday Morning

Friday morning
the geese fly over and
I run from the back of
the house to throw open
the front door—stand
on the porch…left behind
by the contrail of that
great honking mess and
watch them lift into a
batting of clouds held
together by a binding of

With Sandy today:

Fun Friday: Holiday

Today the rain falls and I am filled with expectation.

There is talk of snow on the way.

This quiet hope, this swelling joy reminds me of something Matthew Kelty writes:

When rain turns to ice and snow I declare a holiday. I could as easily resist as stay at a desk with a parade going by in the street below. I cannot hide the delight that then possesses my heart. Only God could have surprised rain with such a change of dress as ice and snow…
Most people love rain, water. Snow charms all young hearts. Only when you get older and bones begin to feel dampness, when snow becomes a traffic problem and a burden in the driveway, when wet means dirt–then the poetry takes flight and God’s love play is not noted.
But I am still a child and have no desire to take on the ways of death. I shall continue to heed water’s invitation, the call of the rain. We are in love and lovers are a little mad. The season of love is soon over; one is young but once…

I’m declaring a holiday today, friends.


There is evidence of His presence all around. God leaves footprints in the snow. He walks among us.

And I am transformed from child to lover…waiting by the window for my Beloved. Yes, lovers are a little mad.

Ain’t it grand?