Extravagant

Your love is extravagant;Your friendship intimate ~ I find I’m moving to the rythyms of your grace; Your fragrance is intoxicating in our secret place

Your love is extravagant; Spread wide in the arms of Christ Is the love that covers sin ~ No greater love have I ever known ~ You considered me a friend´

Capture my heart again

~Darrel Evans

Wow. Unexpected, unrequested, this song struck it's chords deep within me once again; a memory of worship escaping a seam within the recesses of my mind.

What triggered the melody?
What unlatched the tune?

Why is my heart suddenly pulled toward the etchings of time and place that marked my road?

Lord, is that You?

Are you wooing me?

What Color Is Your Candle?

I had completely forgotten about these candle holders ~ my heart simply leapt as they emerged from the jaws of a reused cardboard coffin, where they had been confined.

A ressurection of sorts.

Tonight, these warm sentries stand post atop my 1864 upright piano.

Glimmering soft and comfortable they speak to me of hope and beauty and contentedness, and give me pause to consider the light I reflect.

What color is my candle, that I reflect to my world? Am I bruised and beaten, or worn and weary?

Am I humbled before a Magnificient King, who in a breath secured for me eternal existance in His presence?

Am I triumphant in victory over my foe? Am I daring and bold in the face of adversity? Am I persistent and consistent as I travel this untrod road?

Will I accomplish my purpose, for which I have been born?

Will others know that I love Him, seek Him, adore Him ~ will I tell of His love with words and without . . .

May my heart ever present in His company be. My candle yet glowing for the world to see.

Who's In Charge Here, Anyway?

I've lived in this home for seven years now.

Each year has somehow shifted our family unit. New dynamics; new adventures; new belongings that meld with the old, which were, ironically, once the new.

Each Christmas it happens. I pull out boxes of memories and begin to sift through the treasures as though they are new discoveries ~ only to find that they are. The resurgence of recollections, moods, moments and ideals of history past replay before my mind's eye anew and afresh.

For a moment, transported away to another time, another season of love or lack or lessons learned.

This year I am grateful.

Grateful that I have a home.

Grateful that my house bustles with love.

Grateful for simple pleasures such as cups of tea, or hot cocoa, and videos of The Little Drummer Boy.

Grateful for my daughters' voice on the phone, her smile at my shoulder, her sleeping frame on the living room floor, my son's ever-active antics and roughhousing.

Grateful for my Brainiac husband and his first cousins' penchant for digging out or coderizing moles gone mad.

Yes, I am grateful for what I have. What I've been given. The path I've yet to walk, and the knowledge that the One in charge has it all under control.

Merry Christmas, Father.

Black and White, Logic vs Emotion

Otherwise known as "The Way A Man Thinks" vs "The Way A Woman Thinks".

So, how does this particular item play into YOUR wait time?

sigh.

drumming my fingers on the desk, while my chin is cupped in my hand, boredom (or is that sleep?) seeking to overtake me . . .

A day of activity done, the hours have flown by quite quickly.

Now, however, the clock stares at me, daring to mark each second that passes with increasing volume.

double sigh.

Once again, I conceed:

it must be time for bed.

What To Do While You Are Waiting (a compilation)

Based on today's discussion 'round the table, I've decided that a handy list of sorts is in order on the subject of What To Do While You Are Waiting. So without further ado:

{{ahem}}

* Eat Pumpkin Pie
* Surf the Internet
* Doodle Your Name
* Yawn
* Stretch
* Try to come to life

(oh, wait . . .that is the lyric's to Dolly's song . . .start over . . .)

{{ahem}}

* Re-sort Your Very Important Papers
* Read a Good Book
* Laugh with Your Husband
* Take a Bubble Bath
* Go For A Walk
* Giggle With Your Daughter
* Talk On The Phone

sigh. oh, never mind.

The Absolute Best Thing One Can Do While they are Waiting is .....
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ummmm . . . .
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rats. guess I'd better go to bed!

LOL!

Riding High on Holiday Turkey . . .

So, we went to Sunshyne's place (or should I say Chris 'n Sunshyne's?)

We drove up to a scene of "Boys Run Amuk" or "Boys Gone Wild", as a red blur continually circled the expansive back yard.

Wow.

Christmas came early this year for the Morack boys . . .

Merry Christmas!

Then There's The Beigneits'

So, the Bamboo forest was fascinating in it's own right.

Yet, there was nothing quite like being back at Cafe' Dumonde once again, as it bustled; and people hustled the crowd into a controlled hush. The street vendors clamouring for every person's attention, The clop, clop, clop of horses hooves upon pavement . . .

And what trip is complete without impulsive action, and a drive to the Gulf Coast? Beth, Karen and I took in the new Katrina Momument on the Biloxi Town Green . . .

(The top of the wall is the height of the surge of tidal waters.)


And, of course, a visit with Dell! :)

Bamboo-zeled.

As I began to download pictures from a month's worth of events from my camera tonight, I suddenly realized I had not posted The Bamboo.

How have you lived without it? Bamboo Boy is priceless, as the towering forest seeks to envelope him in sturdy prison-like bars of green.

And what's this? A scenic river babbling by, whispering secrets of visitors past ~

Where did it come from, and how did it grow so stately among the oaks and firs and cedars of the mountains? What liasons and truces and hidden pacts does it defiantly hold within? The reed of kings and princes; foundation of carts and houses; mysterious cool shade-giver, elusive friend.