New Year's Eve 2007 marks the end of a 40. 40 days in the desert. 40 years in the wilderness. Wolf and I head to Cornerstone for a New Year's Concert. Powerful praise with Michael Tyrrell, culminating in prophetic crossing over into 2008-- and new life! [Pictures]
Wolf rolls home to catch some zzz's--- he has to be up by 3 am-- and I head over to catch the tail end of the Uible's infamous New Year's Bash. I get the whole jam-packed New Year's Party Experience in under an hour! [Pictures]
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
One Breath Poetry: Frost
cold crystal mask: frost
enshrouds in vain. the hot heart
lifebeats bold within
Blog Your Blessings Sunday
Some call it coincidence. Some call it synchronicity. I call it blessing!
My breadmaker was destroyed when Hurricane Charlie swept through southern Florida. At the time I was traveling a lot, and decided replacing it was not a priority. The past few years I have missed the simple joy and unspeakable delight of fresh, homemade bread. This winter I decided to do something about it.
The hunt began. Search as I might I couldn't find breadmakers anywhere. ANYWHERE!!!! None of the boxes under the tree held a breadmaker in its festive wrapping.
Sigh.
Some call it Goodwill. Some call it Salvation Army. I call it "The Boutique."
I pop in for a post-Christmas perusal and there it is. My breadmaker. Looks brand new, complete with recipe book. Thank You thank You thank You!
The ham and bean soup has been simmering since yesterday. It goes perfectly with the first loaf of fresh bread!
My breadmaker was destroyed when Hurricane Charlie swept through southern Florida. At the time I was traveling a lot, and decided replacing it was not a priority. The past few years I have missed the simple joy and unspeakable delight of fresh, homemade bread. This winter I decided to do something about it.
The hunt began. Search as I might I couldn't find breadmakers anywhere. ANYWHERE!!!! None of the boxes under the tree held a breadmaker in its festive wrapping.
Sigh.
Some call it Goodwill. Some call it Salvation Army. I call it "The Boutique."
I pop in for a post-Christmas perusal and there it is. My breadmaker. Looks brand new, complete with recipe book. Thank You thank You thank You!
The ham and bean soup has been simmering since yesterday. It goes perfectly with the first loaf of fresh bread!
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas Everyone!
May your New Year be full of growth, excitement and abundance!
May your New Year be full of growth, excitement and abundance!
Sunday, December 16, 2007
One Breath Poetry: A Kind of Beauty
forecasts scream "WARNING!"
burst out in the storm to find
beauty in menace
burst out in the storm to find
beauty in menace
Jet Li Moves On
Twilight, Jet Li the Refurbished Rooster is gone. The fox left a handful of feathers as goodbye.
I'm glad he died with a full belly.
I'm glad he died with a full belly.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Blog Your Blessings Sunday
Midnightish Friday evening. I'm getting a jump start on Blog Your Blessings Sunday.
Midnightish and I just bade goodknight to my sweetie, the love of my life, my knight in shining armor who in the not too distant future I will pledge my eternal troth to. He called to say goodnight for the second time. The first time I was dumping grain.
Dumping 12 bags of horse feed, 1 bag of barn kitty feed and yes, breaking new ground, rooster feed (tuck in, Jet Li!) More than enough of hundreds of pounds to smirk in the face of any weather threats the media might bluster our way (and tonight they are blustering indeed.) More than enough to cover any contingencies during my planned span away next week. More than enough to drive my overexhausted, aching body to draglifthauldumpdraglifthauldump for the sheer satisfaction of completion.
Late Friday night. I laugh. The name on bag after bag of feed is "Legends." I think of Will Smith, of his new flick which many people with normal lives are watching tonight: "I am Legend." I don't know what it is--Film Geek, can you fill me in?--but the moebius twist of my scewed parallel universe has me laughing in the rain of shooting stars.
Have I mentioned the shooting stars? Oh, this is the night, even running amuck in a holiday retail habitrail. The night for shooting stars. And over the evening, two in particular scream across the sickly city darkness and burn for eternities while I squeal and wish my guts out.
So the blessings of which I blog? Where to begin? For the body which God keeps renewing no matter what kind of crazy things and insane expectations I throw its way. At the prolonged end of a flatoutsincedawn day like today, that itself dances in the spotlight.
For results. For the fruits of todays labors, and the dedication of my co-laborers. Daylight hours packed with trial and error, energy and intention embodied. The horses in their new housing, with new fencing. The accomplishment of worlds of deceptively small details which can make or break weathering a storm, a season or an absence, however brief. The next layer of confusion cut away. The promise of a blank canvas dawning on the morrow.
For my diesel dually, which I have considered selling at least once a quarter. Thankfully even the bean-counter in my head (and on paper) agrees that is a foolish notion. That truck has been my alter-ego, my partner in crime, my brute squad, and the finest ally for a single-woman-conquering-the-world. Now I'm facing no longer singleness, no longer "my truck" but "our truck". And even that's ok, though it's taking getting used to. At least I know Wolf won't wear my sparkly truck-drivin tiara!
Which I do, with delight! Tiaras are mandatory after a full trip to town, driving home a full load. From feed for all manner of four- and two-leggeds, to 1x8x10's for replacement facia on the loafing shed, to batteries to stave off the threatened storm, to Christmas presents, to thermocouples, to heaters to hardware and yes, some beautiful candles "just in case the power goes out."
For provision. For abundance. For the faith to see beauty in menace.
Blogging my blessings early....
Midnightish and I just bade goodknight to my sweetie, the love of my life, my knight in shining armor who in the not too distant future I will pledge my eternal troth to. He called to say goodnight for the second time. The first time I was dumping grain.
Dumping 12 bags of horse feed, 1 bag of barn kitty feed and yes, breaking new ground, rooster feed (tuck in, Jet Li!) More than enough of hundreds of pounds to smirk in the face of any weather threats the media might bluster our way (and tonight they are blustering indeed.) More than enough to cover any contingencies during my planned span away next week. More than enough to drive my overexhausted, aching body to draglifthauldumpdraglifthauldump for the sheer satisfaction of completion.
Late Friday night. I laugh. The name on bag after bag of feed is "Legends." I think of Will Smith, of his new flick which many people with normal lives are watching tonight: "I am Legend." I don't know what it is--Film Geek, can you fill me in?--but the moebius twist of my scewed parallel universe has me laughing in the rain of shooting stars.
Have I mentioned the shooting stars? Oh, this is the night, even running amuck in a holiday retail habitrail. The night for shooting stars. And over the evening, two in particular scream across the sickly city darkness and burn for eternities while I squeal and wish my guts out.
So the blessings of which I blog? Where to begin? For the body which God keeps renewing no matter what kind of crazy things and insane expectations I throw its way. At the prolonged end of a flatoutsincedawn day like today, that itself dances in the spotlight.
For results. For the fruits of todays labors, and the dedication of my co-laborers. Daylight hours packed with trial and error, energy and intention embodied. The horses in their new housing, with new fencing. The accomplishment of worlds of deceptively small details which can make or break weathering a storm, a season or an absence, however brief. The next layer of confusion cut away. The promise of a blank canvas dawning on the morrow.
For my diesel dually, which I have considered selling at least once a quarter. Thankfully even the bean-counter in my head (and on paper) agrees that is a foolish notion. That truck has been my alter-ego, my partner in crime, my brute squad, and the finest ally for a single-woman-conquering-the-world. Now I'm facing no longer singleness, no longer "my truck" but "our truck". And even that's ok, though it's taking getting used to. At least I know Wolf won't wear my sparkly truck-drivin tiara!
Which I do, with delight! Tiaras are mandatory after a full trip to town, driving home a full load. From feed for all manner of four- and two-leggeds, to 1x8x10's for replacement facia on the loafing shed, to batteries to stave off the threatened storm, to Christmas presents, to thermocouples, to heaters to hardware and yes, some beautiful candles "just in case the power goes out."
For provision. For abundance. For the faith to see beauty in menace.
Blogging my blessings early....
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Rooster Refurb
"Ya wanna rooster?"
"Alive or frozen?"
"Does it matter?"
"Uh-huh. I'm a lover, not a killer...."
The cousins prepare for their annual migration. A neighbor willingly winters their laying hens. A bunch of the roosters have already found their way to autumn parties as entrees.
A trail of exhaust in the darkening chill marks the cousins exodus. I take a moment out of the flurry of work to bask in the sudden peace-- and see that the one rooster. Too skinny for the freezer, he remains on the outskirts of the barnyard, patiently waiting for the return of his flock. Or the fox.
Sigh.
His name is Jet Li. And he's really grateful for the slightly stale cereal....
"Alive or frozen?"
"Does it matter?"
"Uh-huh. I'm a lover, not a killer...."
The cousins prepare for their annual migration. A neighbor willingly winters their laying hens. A bunch of the roosters have already found their way to autumn parties as entrees.
A trail of exhaust in the darkening chill marks the cousins exodus. I take a moment out of the flurry of work to bask in the sudden peace-- and see that the one rooster. Too skinny for the freezer, he remains on the outskirts of the barnyard, patiently waiting for the return of his flock. Or the fox.
Sigh.
His name is Jet Li. And he's really grateful for the slightly stale cereal....
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
First Snow
the seasons first snow silences a cacaphonous schedule, and brings an agenda all its own.
i told pastor paul yesterday, "we're both 37, we both know what we're giving up by getting married." wolf later commends me on that comment, i'm still not sure why. tonight though, i wonder at the depth of it. wonder if i can keep claiming my sacred stolen moments or if i'm sacrificing them forever.
the cousins are off at conrad's birthday party tonight. i revel in having the kitchen to myself, revel in concocting the latest iteration of gypsy soup while catching up on the phone with people i love. great music fills the tiny space. my jingly hipscarf--hallmark of cleaning the kitchen-- is in the coldhouse. nevertheless i find myself, as ever, dancingdancingdancing while JEB leaps and prances counterpoint.
will i be able to "dance like nobody's watching" when wolf shares my kitchen? will i be able to "love like i've never been hurt" even if he brings the pain? i "live like it's heaven on earth," because it is. can i remember that when he tries to convince me otherwise?
i tumble into the night and discover the snowstorm's second casualty. i patch things up as best i can, fingers burning bitterly with cold. in this case daylight is mandatory for a complete repair.
i discover, to no surprise, that orion shines brightest between friesian ears.
JEB and i continue onto the night, into the oaks. we cross beneath the edge of the storm front, where an obscuring haze aglow with sickly city light gives way with 90 degree finality to black brilliance blazing with stars. i talk to God. His words are strangely silent tonight, but His presence has me on my knees, sobbing in fresh-fallen snow.
He's in charge.
He showers me with The Good Stuff. and He gave wolf and i each other. eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him (1 Cor 2:9). in other words, we ain't seen nothin' yet!
a single step in faith moves me through the darkness, the deep snows. a single step followed by another, and another, and another carries me through the silent night....
i told pastor paul yesterday, "we're both 37, we both know what we're giving up by getting married." wolf later commends me on that comment, i'm still not sure why. tonight though, i wonder at the depth of it. wonder if i can keep claiming my sacred stolen moments or if i'm sacrificing them forever.
the cousins are off at conrad's birthday party tonight. i revel in having the kitchen to myself, revel in concocting the latest iteration of gypsy soup while catching up on the phone with people i love. great music fills the tiny space. my jingly hipscarf--hallmark of cleaning the kitchen-- is in the coldhouse. nevertheless i find myself, as ever, dancingdancingdancing while JEB leaps and prances counterpoint.
will i be able to "dance like nobody's watching" when wolf shares my kitchen? will i be able to "love like i've never been hurt" even if he brings the pain? i "live like it's heaven on earth," because it is. can i remember that when he tries to convince me otherwise?
i tumble into the night and discover the snowstorm's second casualty. i patch things up as best i can, fingers burning bitterly with cold. in this case daylight is mandatory for a complete repair.
i discover, to no surprise, that orion shines brightest between friesian ears.
JEB and i continue onto the night, into the oaks. we cross beneath the edge of the storm front, where an obscuring haze aglow with sickly city light gives way with 90 degree finality to black brilliance blazing with stars. i talk to God. His words are strangely silent tonight, but His presence has me on my knees, sobbing in fresh-fallen snow.
He's in charge.
He showers me with The Good Stuff. and He gave wolf and i each other. eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him (1 Cor 2:9). in other words, we ain't seen nothin' yet!
a single step in faith moves me through the darkness, the deep snows. a single step followed by another, and another, and another carries me through the silent night....
Monday, December 3, 2007
One Breath Poetry: Container
skin, my container.
stories, creations, love-gifts
dancing through this world
stories, creations, love-gifts
dancing through this world
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