Ascending the Heights


Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, turn, my beloved, and be like a gazelle or like a young stag on the rugged hills.*

Rugged hill challenges of life—they call me.  Mostly because I yearn for a change of scenery—a view from higher heights.  A spiritual lens upgrade.

No longer a slave to what I witness in the outward.  Breaking free from reality’s cruel grasp.  My thoughts take flight—into the high places of the sky.  Where tidal surges of hope rush upward and eternal.

Arise, my darling!
Come quickly, my beloved.
Come and be the graceful gazelle with me.
Come be like a dancing deer with me.
We will dance in the high place of the sky,
yes, on the mountains of fragrant spice.
Forever we shall be united as one!*

God’s thoughts are high.  His ways are high.  Residing far above my rugged-hill ways.  His thoughts are hidden among mountains of fragrant grace.  He beckons me to come & draws me with climbing cords of love.  (Really, it’s quite scandalous, this grace.)

And in the rarefied air of heavenly heights, my thoughts become fastened on all that is lovely; all that is honorable and admirable, beautiful and respectful, pure and holy, merciful and kind.

Writer-Poet Carl Sandburg’s words entice me:  “Here or there you may witness a startling harmony…where you say, “This will be haunting me a long time with a loveliness I hope to understand better.” 

When the day breaks and the shadows flee, I encounter a startling harmony within.  My beloved is altogether lovely.  A loveliness that has haunted me a very long time.  A loveliness that I hope to understand better.  A loveliness that renews and transforms.

*Author’s Note:  Writing for me becomes a dialogue with the Spirit of God.  My heart’s response to scriptures whispering through my spirit.  This dialogue flows from Song of Songs 2:17 (NIV) and  8:14 (TPT) and Philippians 4:8.  May the dialogue continue within you.  Love and Peace.

Nature’s Garment


Nature is the living, visible garment of God.”  Johann von Goethe

Eye-gate opened to The High and Lifted Up

I reach for His garment in the dawn’s early light

The train of His robe fills this temple of mine

At the threshold of an Alaskan fjord.


*Writing for me becomes a dialogue with the Spirit of God.  My heart’s response to scriptures whispering through my spirit.  This dialogue flows from Isaiah 6:1: “In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple.”  May the dialogue continue in you… Love & Peace.










The Writer’s Inkhorn


Six men came from the way

of the higher gate

One among them clothed in linen.

A writer’s inkhorn by his side

A slaughter-weapon placed in his hand.*

My faith affects my writing.  And my writing affects my faith.  Writing brings me joy & strength.  It breaks & restores.

Most times the ink falls in pleasant places.  But occasionally, it falls into the not-so-pleasant.  Into the shadowy self, wherein hides the insecurities & failures of life.

Yet if it were not for the shadow experiences of life, there would be no beauty.  For in the shadows, the Beauty of Holiness wields the pen.

In the shadows, the pen becomes a slaughtering weapon.  Wielded not with anger and wrath but with God’s Holy Passion. 

In the shadows, Passion takes up the pen.  Flesh piercing.  Soul & spirit dividing.  Purging  whatever stands in the way between me and Perfect Love.

Six men came from the way

of the higher gate

One among them clothed in linen.

A writer’s inkhorn by his side

A weapon-pen placed in his hand.


He draws from the inkhorn

His Spirit-Ink

And marks me with Mercy & Grace.

Fears & failures utterly destroyed

I am delivered by Love’s Mighty Pen.


*Inspired by Ezekiel Chapter 9 of The Holy Bible, King James Version.

Daily Prompt:  Mercy


Black And White With A Pop of Color




I look back down at the page.  Black and white with a pop of color.

          Red letters pop … ”If you can believe, all things are possible …”

          A black-letter comeback … “I do believe—help my unbelief!”

I got trust issues with God.  I believe.  Then again sometimes I don’t.  It’s just that He can be so … unpredictable.  

“Do I contradict myself?  Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.”  Walt Whitman says it.   Reminds me of God.

A Contradiction.

I whisper to myself the words of the Psalmist, “How precious also are your thoughts to me, O God!  How vast is the sum of them!  If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand…”

An unearthing in the dew-drenched garden of my heart.  New understanding emerges.

Could it be that when God seemingly contradicts Himself, … my heart, mind and spirit are being s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d to receive the multitude of His thoughts towards me?

That in the place of contradiction, the Spirit of God desires to reveal Himself to me in a new way?  An unveiling of sorts … an encounter with His thoughts that enlarges me?  That causes me to know Him more?  That causes me to love more?

Dressed in black and white with a pop of color, I walk my best-dressed self out of my office and onto the sidewalk.

Businessmen and women on every corner; in the restaurants and cafes, outside of Starbucks discussing local politics and drinking Macchiatos.

And then I see him.  A homeless man sprawled out in the middle of the alley.

A contradiction.

Delivery truck about to make a blind turn into the alley.  I run, arms waving  like a madwoman.  The driver makes a quick maneuver around us and keeps on going.

The man is not moving.  Not sure whether he’s dead or just had too much to drink.  I lean in close.  No question–too much to drink.  And hasn’t had a bath in a while either.

A passer-by calls 9-1-1 and keeps on walking.  I kneel next to the man and wait.  He’s agitated.  Wants to be left alone.  Don’t care.  I’m not leaving.

I place my persimmon red, over-priced designer purse under his black and white bedraggled head.  Black and white with a pop of color.

A contradiction.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I’m your friend”.

“You’re not my friend.”

In the contradiction, I remember the words, “How precious are your thoughts towards ME-HIM, O God.”

In the contradiction, I recall the words of Terence, “I am human.  Therefore, nothing is alien to me”.  

In the contradiction, I encounter the love of God for one of His own and I am enlarged.

“Yes, I am.”

Quiet tears escape and run down his bristly face.

In the moment, a decision made.  It’s really okay if God seems contradictory.  His  thoughts towards me are vast.  He is large.  I am small.  And it’s in the unpredictables of life, that I am enlarged.  It’s in the contradictions of life that I learn to love.


Girls With Messy Hair


All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful: The Lord God made them all.  ~Cecil Frances Alexander

To my daughter, and to her daughter,

And to all girls with messy hair and

Brave & adventurous hearts…

Your messy, wild and strong spirit

Is a BIG gift from God

That you get to unwrap each day

So don’t you dare compromise your

Original Beautiful Design

To fit some man-made religious & legalistic mold.

Stay far from those who try to mold you

Close to those who can help unfold you

And live your messy-hair life

With style and a smile

Knowing you were created in the Heart of God

And He does all things well.



A Walk In The Woods

“I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least–and it is commonly more than that–sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements.”  Henry David Thoreau.

Today I walk towards the west.  Not my usual starting-out direction.  But the west seems to be calling me today—a subtle magnetism.  My heart compass follows.

I leave the road and venture into the woods and the meadows and the fields.  A yellow-marked trail points the way.  Whether I follow the trail, God only knows.  My needle trumps yellow-marked trails.  Always seeming to settle on my true north.

In the walking, I ascend deep into the heights of communion with God.  (The beauty of nature is always meant to be a means of connection.)   Minutes turn into quarter hours; half hours into hours.  I am lost in prayerful thought—a comfortable place for me.

I descend.  No yellow-marked trail.  In fact, no trail at all.  I had come to an intersection at some point in my prayer journey.  A one-road crossroad—the trail before me and the wild to the left and right of me.  Needle took me off the trail.  Go figure.

Peering through the trees, a paved road appears at a distance.  I make my way to it.  Surely, I can’t be too far from home.  I must have been on this road before.  Yet, the familiar things I search for to give me my bearings are not there.  I left the path and now I am lost.  And I am not good with lost.

No choice but to start walking.  Just keep walking.

Faith—the certainty that what we hope for is waiting for us, even though we cannot see it up ahead—whispers into my fears.

All those who wander are not lost.  There is a purpose in your wanderings.  Trust God.  He is with you on your sojourn. 

Sometimes you must wander but soon enough, you will discover that you are on your destiny path.  Just keep wandering, one step at a time, until your path becomes clear.

And then … I see it up ahead.

The familiar in the midst of the unfamiliar. 

I am almost home.

One more destiny path blazed in the untamed wild of my soul.




It All Becomes Clear on the Mountain


You are a prophet of caves, rocks and deserts”, she states wittingly—my poetic, thought-provoking teacher of all things spiritual.  The one who uses extraordinary words like “coruscate” and “obfuscate” and “mercurial” in our ordinary, every-day chats.

Standing still inside myself, I reckon, “It takes one to know one”.

Wilderness wanderers eating the locust and wild honey of life—the revelation of creation that declares the Majesty of God.  We give thanks and eat.  Our spirits strengthened with each taste.


We reach the top of Maine’s Little Kineo Mountain.  Spectacular scene.  Bathed in the glorious sunlight above the treetops.  Free of a shadowed view.  We eat the vision.

And then…something happens.

Although the air is still, a thunderous roar comes from the sky.  An intense sound—like that of a jumbo jet engine.  Like the sound of a mighty rushing wind.  We stand motionless in holy fear as what can only be described as the very presence of God moves upon the mountaintop.  Both feel it.  Both experience it.  Both awe-struck.

Next morning, I search, and He reveals.  Kineo, a Greek word meaning to move; to set in motion.  Where we get our English word kinetics. 

“For in Him we live, and move (kineo) and have our being… “.  I recall the Apostle’s words.

Something moved upon us on Mount Kineo that day.   Someone moved upon us and within us, and we were moved.

A mountaintop experience–not meant to teach but to transform.

It all becomes clear on the mountain.

Standing still inside myself, I know who I am.  Yes, I am a prophet of caves, rocks and deserts.   And the mountains.  

My iPhone signals.   A text message awaits.  It’s her.  “Have you been to the mountains lately?”

The mountains call and I run.