Wherever you are is the entry point.~Kabir

I decided not to merely pass by the beauty of the fountain like I did most days on my walk. I had a small plastic cube of trail mix in my pocket on a sunny winter day. Instead of going home and eating my snack on the porch, I walked down the grassy knoll to the pond. There is a fountain in the middle of the little body of water. I can see the fountain from my bedroom window, but I can't hear it. I sat down on the grass, took the trail mix from my pocket and began to savor the raisins and almonds and tiny squares of dark chocolate. I listened to the delicate sound of water as it sprayed from the fountain and gently plummeted into the pond. I felt such contentment, the sun's warmth on my face. 

Lately, I'd been focused on life's uncertainties. COVID, sorting out retirement, relationships, finances. All of the negativity blurred together in my mind. Sitting by the fountain, the musicality of the water seemed to invite me, instead, to appreciate the beauty I'd been witness to of late. Beauty that fueled happiness. Like the fountain.

People "heal" because creativity is healthy--and practicing it, they find their greater selves.~Julia Cameron (From The Artist's Way)

I'd ordered the book years ago. Someone had recommended it to me, saying the material had opened them up to their own creativity. But the book had come into my life when I was too sad to read, when even books couldn't revive me. I lifted The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron from the box where it lay stashed for all those years and opened to the introduction. I read, "Art is a spiritual transaction. Artists are visionaries. We routinely practice a form of faith, seeing clearly and moving toward a creative goal that shimmers in the distance--often visible to us, but invisible to those around us."

I burst into tears. It was as if God sat down beside me, took my hand in His and said, "I see you and understand you. Go ahead. Write. If you don't create the story, nobody will. Writing is my gift to you. Give yourself permission to create the story. I'll help you, my spirit hovering over you, breathing life into the work." I cried harder, the velocity of His affection toward me relentless and tender. (Passage from my book, The Light By Which We See)

The Aramaic uses a metaphor, "a beautiful testimony from the wilderness." This means he has passed through his wilderness journey and is now seen as tested and proven.~ Footnote from the The Passion Translation referencing I Timothy 3:7

Tomorrow we flip the calendar to 2022. What geography will you discover in the New Year? Maybe some of you feel as if  the territory of 2021 tested you mightily. "Proven" may still seem a glimmer in the distance. Wherever you are, you have a story to tell, and you've kept traveling. Well done! As you step over the threshold into 2022, I send a blessing...

As you put away the Christmas ornaments, take down the tree and remove the lights on the roof, may you not dwell on the fact that the festivities are over, but rather on the surety of God's faithfulness, and the expectation of His goodness that trails you, even if you believe you're still on the wilderness pathway.

Or perhaps you're thrilled that the celebrations have ended and you can get back to your routines. No more weird or awkward family gatherings or too much sugar. Revel in His mercy that supports you still.

As you move ahead, may you love others deeply with a pure heart.

May you be flooded with incredible grace, like a river overflowing its banks.

May you embrace the mysteries of faith.

I heard the holy melody as I crossed the threshold of the church door. The organist went between the piano and the organ playing so radiantly and triumphantly it almost made me ache from the beauty of the chords.  The congregation was provided a bulletin with the song lyrics and the Scripture readings. I came home and highlighted the phrases I loved from the leaflet. I provide them here as they comprise such a lyrical Christmas poem. 

O come, O Bright and Morning Star and bring us comfort from afar!

Dispel the shadows of the night and turn our darkness into light.

Bid all our sad divisions cease and be yourself our King of Peace.

And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and might.

For the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

Let loving hearts enthrone him.

And he shall be their peace.

The air is warm and sweet. Stars burn here and there. In the distance little strands of glitter climb the hills.~Anthony Doerr (From Four Season in Rome)

I almost didn't go. I was out Christmas shopping and running errands. But I was so close, so close to the ocean, the coastline only a few miles away. My mind attempted to talk me out of driving the short distance. "There's the issue of parking, not to mention you'll probably need an app to pay. You don't have time to figure that out." Yet I kept thinking, too, "But I'm so close." 

Only an old blue pick-up sat in the gravel parking lot. I didn't need an app. I typed in my license plate number at the parking meter, slipped in my credit card, and for two dollars I bought an hour to walk along the beach. I felt like I might explode with happiness. I could see a couple of surfers in the distance bobbling in the silvered waves, like sleek seals in their black wet suits. I walked in solitude, no one else around. It was as if I couldn't gulp down all the beauty surrounding me. The tide was out, and shards of burgundy, amber, bronze and sepia-striped shells lay embedded in the hard-packed sand, like elegant gemstones. A seagull glided above me, winging its way through cirrus clouds, blue slices of sky peering through feathery shapes. I inhaled pungent salty air, listened to the ocean.