A God-Walk

We went looking for God.

This man-child and I. He, peaky from the flu, and I…well I just tired.

We needed to walk in the sun, step out into that light. The autumn winds joined in our play and we found beauty.

We found Him.

The meadow is alive with delights and we slowly savored each one.

The Common Groundsel has let loose her crown and everywhere we walked feathery white seeds danced on the breeze around us. When we were agile enough to catch these elusive tricksters, we made our wishes and blew them back into the wind–watching them soar to the heavens, carrying our prayer-wishes with them.

This yawning chestnut gave up its fruit long ago. These spiky burs protect what is theirs fiercely, but they always evoke a tender feeling in me. My grandfather used to have dishes of chestnuts set around his house to snack on at will. I never could stomach the things, but they will always remind me of him.

This Possum Haw set the meadow aflame.

Simple Fleabane–the meadow’s wedding gown.

Bush honeysuckle? Not sure. But gorgeous.

Then, down to the creek for that magic healing that comes with sun-kissed ripples.

We went looking for God, only to find, He was right here with us all along.

Don’t forget about our book club starting next Monday over at HCB. Would love to hear what nature whispers in your ear…

Goodbye August….

Fall is in the air on this last day of August. This morning, when I went out for my run, the cloudless sky and brisk temperatures opened my eyes.

Beauty everywhere as summer begins to shed her coat.

And the endless gifts continue…

Chestnuts fallen in piles around base of fence.

Fragrant honeysuckle beginning to yellow.

Morning glories in white and pink trailing through evergreen bushes… splashes of joy.

Blue heron standing tall as he stares past reflection into seamless pond.

Canada geese skimming through water, single file.

Moving day for neighbor: boxes stacked in driveway, two little boys winding in and out.

Sunshine through tree profile: light peek-a-boo.

Faithful furry friend in window, waiting for our walk upon return from run.

The sound water makes as it passes over stones, murmuring that secret language that works magic on my soul.


Breeze gently blowing leaves.

Mangoes, kiwi, red raspberries…

A place to sit in the sun and eat my snack as gentle breeze kisses face and gives hair tendrils a tune to dance to.

I count my blessings, one by one…

Visit Ann over at Holy Experience to share more of the endless gifts.


A large Perpendicular style Gothic window of e...Image via Wikipedia

We were standing on the perimeter of the sanctuary.

Just passing through, we had stopped in Gulfport, Mississippi to visit our Pastor-friend on our way to Pensacola Beach.

Our friend was in a meeting and we were told to show ourselves around while we waited for him.

We teetered on the edge, feeling shy to enter into this stillness. As we peered in, sunlight sifted through stained glass, flooding that sacred place with a kaleidoscope of color.

I stepped in.

He followed.

“Why do all Presbyterian churches look the same?”

I heard the humor in his voice, and something else—disdain?

I breathed in and smelled a familiar smell.

It smelled like home.

I wondered—is this the smell of hundreds of hearts and shoulders rubbing up against one another? The smell of many bodies becoming One?

I sat down in the front pew and raised face to glowing cross, sunshine falling through glass.

I didn’t see what he saw.

“I love church.”

I said it with my eyes closed—feeling Him there–loving the light and glass, polished wood and shining brass.

“I don’t,” he said, smiling that smile.

“I love bars and coffee houses.”

And he does.

He is just as uncomfortable in church as he was on the day he was baptized, three years ago.

These walls do not fold him closer to God, as they do me.

They hem him in. Trap him.

But as I look up at him through filtered sunbeams, dust particles illuminated as they suspend in air…I see that he is beginning to understand why.

Why I love church.

Later, as we walk along the seashore…my hand in his…wind lashing hair about faces…I am overcome by the beauty of the moment.

I close my eyes and breathe in a familiar smell. I feel Him there, too—large and powerful like the waves; soft and tender like my husband’s hand.

“This is so…”

I struggle for words.

And then it is my turn to touch on the beginning of understanding.

“This is church.”

He smiles down at me, squeezes my hand.

Wherever we are, He meets us there, Beloved.

Large and powerful, soft and tender.

Such are the ways of our God.

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I feel the smallness

of this person today.

Feel the limitations

of this flesh.

Watching the towhees scatter under gaze…

Tracing paw impression of coyote with finger…

Savoring feel of moss under hand.

These things speak of Him.

We stand

in stillness,

beside the pond

and watch two ducks swim lazily by.

These two lovers

resent our intrusion,

draw near the other side of the bank.

And then,

honking from above

as this long-necked goose

makes surprisingly graceful

landing on liquid runway.

He, too,

wishes for our departure.

So we go…

Off the beaten trail

Find beauty in secret places.

We mount this hill, and

breathless, I pull him to me

and we plop down on slumbering tree.

Smell the sunshine in his hair,

brush the brambles from his clothes

and hold this love

under this sky of love

at the top of the hill

looking down over everything.

I see how big

the world is.

And feel my smallness.