Dawn. And I’m walking on a path interrupted by roots. Stumbling on acorns hidden beneath fallen leaves.
The way feels uneven.
Unpredictable.
I can’t look up. In the grey. Before full light reveals.
Dawn. And I’m walking on a path interrupted by roots. Stumbling on acorns hidden beneath fallen leaves.
The way feels uneven.
Unpredictable.
I can’t look up. In the grey. Before full light reveals.
Empty skies. In the days following 9/11/2001. The flight pattern over our home in Virginia—suddenly silent.
My husband was traveling in West Africa at the time. He called and I wept. We felt the distance in the midst of uncertainty.
Our world changed that day, but we drew near to the One who never changes. Held on to His Word. And Joshua 1:9 became our family verse during that season.
“Haven’t I commanded you: be strong and courageous? Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”
Refuge. In the tropical afternoons of my childhood.
I’m sitting on soft dirt. Amid twisted roots. Under a canopy of thick, intertwined bougainvillea branches growing by the backyard fence.
Shelter. From unrelenting sun.
Shade. For afternoon play with plastic teacups and bowls. A plentiful supply of leaves and blossoms within reach.
The secret place where I can rest. And just be.