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Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

– Elizabeth Barrett Browning

This is the season when nature paints its trees with vibrant color. And it seems that every common bush really is on fire with God. The poet described it well. She also described humankind well, portraying us as persons who hardly take notice of the beauty around us in the autumn season.

This year, I want to notice. I want to take in the brilliance as if it were the last autumn I will ever experience. I want to see the vivid color and feel the crunch of the leaves beneath my feet. I want to smell the chill in the air, and marvel at the blue in the sky. I want to watch the leaves fall, blown about by a soft wind. I want to see the God in every bush.

And I want to make sure that my shoes are off in homage to the sacred beauty of God’s world.

I don’t need to spend any time plucking blackberries.

“He leads me beside still waters.”

So writes the Psalmist, and reminds us of the importance of stillness, lying down and taking rest, being about those acts that restore our souls. In a world of constant chaos, I find it extremely important to restore my soul. If you are aware of all that goes on every day in our world – violence, war, anger, abuse – you also know how important it is to restore your soul.

And then there is also the challenge of personal traumas like illness, relationship problems, financial difficulties. The challenges we face every day can sometimes be powerful enough to bring us to our knees . . . which is, by the way, where we need to be.

Prayer is important. Being quiet in God’s presence is important. Waiting for God beside still waters restores our souls and empowers us to go on another day.

I have a challenge ahead of me that brings with it certain concerns. As I am being evaluated for a possible kidney transplant, I am reminded of my vulnerability, of the physical weakness I endured throughout 2014, of the risks involved in major surgery. I am in a state of worry and confusion about it, a confusion that stays with me until I head for still waters.

I do know one thing most certainly: that physical health absolutely requires that my soul be restored beside the still waters of faith . . .

He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. . . . Even though I walk through the valley of shadows, I will not fear, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff comfort me.  (Psalm 23, paraphrased)

I have a clear memory of a childhood pot garden. I remember putting soil in plastic cups, placing one seed in each cup, watering the seeds and placing them in our school window. Waiting for the sprouts to appear seemed to take forever.

I was impatient and very curious about what the seeds were doing. I watered every day, looking for any tiny sign of a sprout. There was nothing! Just a cup full of dirt, lightly watered, sitting there!

I began to have serious doubts, in spite of the fact that my teacher was so upbeat, so sure we would see sprouts, so convinced that we would all have little seedlings by spring.

I think she did not properly prepare us for the wait. At the time when I expected to see strong, little green seedlings, I saw nothing. And I was discouraged, to say the least.

Habakkuk 2:3 speaks of waiting with these words: “For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.”

Faith requires patience in all things. It often requires waiting for that which we long for to come to pass. It requires knowing what we have planted in faith, and believing that it will eventually grow.

I know that one of the most trying prayers for me has been prayers for my child. In faith, hope and expectation, I have prayed without ceasing that he would transition into a successful, happy adult. I prayed the same prayer for years. For years, I saw no sign of new growth. I have never given up.

So I waited and waited for these sprouts. One day, I reached my limit and dug my finger into the soil to find one of the seeds. I found one, and then I quickly stuck the seed back in the dirt before the teacher could see me. I pushed it down under the dirt much deeper than it was planted before.

Days passed, and eventually spouts appeared in every cup. The one I dug up took the longest and was the smallest of them all.

The lessons from this story?
Faith requires patience.
What you plant will grow in its own time.
Leave things alone.
And in the words of Elisabeth Elliot, “Don’t dig up in doubt what you planted in faith.”

If you listen to the daily news, you can quickly become saturated with stories of violence, violence of all kinds. It disturbs the soul, and yet we listen, with a deep longing that there will be a way to stop it.

The ravages of war . . . Gun violence . . . Children harming other children . . . Adults beating children . . . A man using physical violence against his spouse . . . The sex trafficking of children . . . The stories are too much to hear.

Psalm 122 offers a heartening word against violence:

I rejoiced when I heard them announce,
“The time of warfare is past.
No more will brother hate brother
or violence have its way.
No more will they drown out God’s silence
and shut their hearts to his song.”

Pray for peace in the cities
and harmony among the races.
May peace come to live on our streets
and justice within our walls.
With all my heart I will pray
that peace comes to live among us.
For the sake of all earth’s people,
I will do my utmost for peace.

(Source: The Psalms (translated by Stephen Mitchell)

Let us pray for peace with all our hearts.

Life is not always a mountaintop experience. Circumstances can take us to a low place emotionally. When I am low, I often listen to the words of this moving song:

When I am down, and, oh, my soul, so weary,
When troubles come, and my heart burdened be.
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence;
Until you come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on your shoulders.
You raise me up to more than I can be.

There is no life, no life without its hunger.
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly.
But then you come, and I am filled with wonder.
Sometimes I think I glimpse eternity.

There are times when my soul is weary. Not just tired, but deep-down weary. Life sometimes brings us the kind of trials that have the power to bring us down. For some, it is illness. Others go through relationship struggles or financial challenges. Still others grieve the loss of a loved one. These are not usually short-term losses. Instead, they bring suffering for a season, often a very long season. Losing someone you love, for instance, brings on a lengthy grieving process, and many people mourn this kind of loss for years.

The song mentions being still and waiting in the silence. It is there that God comes to us with healing and a renewed spirit. The waiting is the hardest part for some of us. We desire instant fixes that move us past the pain quickly. But it just does not happen that way.

God allows mourning to be a process, and in the middle of that process, we grow and change, and eventually, are able to find joy and peace again. The song tells of being able to stand on mountains and walk on stormy seas, to be strong again and to become “more than I can be.” Those are miracles of grace that come from God alone.

I invite you to listen to this song’ “You Raise Me Up” on YouTube at the following link:  https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Yfwlj0gba_k

Girls raised in the South can sometimes become obsessed with being “good girls.” Often we Southern girls take gentility to a new level, being polite at all costs. It’s how we were taught. The trouble is that we sometimes harm ourselves in deference to the needs of others. It’s our way.

Feminism is a negative word to many people. But it can be a positive word when referring to becoming self-actualized, self-confident, and self-assured within ourselves as women. The Bible, in fact, even honored one “bad girl.”

Consider the prostitute we know as Rahab, who ended up playing an important role in God’s grand design. Her story tells us that two of Joshua’s spies ended up at her house. She provided a safe house for them. And the Bible says that Joshua spared Rahab the prostitute, with her family and all who belonged to her, because she hid the men Joshua had sent as spies to Jericho.  (Joshua 6:25)

Bad girl or not, God’s generous mercy and boundless grace spared her life, as well as “her father’s household” (ASV) and “all who belonged to her” (NRSV). The people that she loved, God loved and protected.

So maybe we shouldn’t be so concerned with being “good girls” in the eyes of the world that tends to prefer “submissive girls” over bold, brave women who know how to live life with grace-filled confidence.

Was the woman who anointed the feet of Jesus with her alabaster jar of perfume at Simon’s house a bad girl because she had been a prostitute?

Do you see this woman? Jesus asked. (Luke 7:44)

Simon saw only a prostitute. Jesus saw her past, and he also saw her in the moment. He described how she had just honored him, then he made this grace-filled announcement:  Her sins, which are many, are forgiven.   (Luke 7:47 ASV). Jesus didn’t see her as a bad girl.

How about Abigail, who loaded up a feast and went to meet David, hoping that her actions would calm David so that he would spare her family from death? David agreed to spare the family for Abigail’s sake. (1 Samuel 25) Was she a bad girl who didn’t know her place?

I believe that God is pleased when women stand tall with strength and courage, taking control over their lives, protecting their loved ones, living out their personal faith, and creating their own relationship with their Creator. The world might well call us “bad girls,” but God calls us women of faith.

The house is quiet. My spirit is quiet. My soul is silent. It’s not a bad state to find myself in. It’s a state of content, without a hint of worry or concern. It is a good Sabbath condition in which to find myself.

I am grateful for these times of quietness, because it is in these times that I am able to fully worship God from the depths of my being. There are no interruptions to my prayers and I am here, alone with a God who truly cares for me.

1 Peter 3:4 describes the “hidden person of the heart.”

. . . but let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the imperishable quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in the sight of God.

I do not always experience a gentle and quiet spirit, but today is one of the times when I am experiencing gentleness and quietness. It makes room for God to be here near me. And that is a good thing for my soul.

The very old gospel hymn “Blessed Quietness,” which was written in 1897, comes to mind this morning.

Blessèd quietness, holy quietness,
What assurance in my soul!
On the stormy sea, He speaks peace to me,
How the billows cease to roll!

I would love to take a long, thoughtful, meditative walk in a misty forest.

I like the bird that visits the bird feeder outside my kitchen window, and I like watching him spread his wings to go.

I am lucky to have a tree framing our front porch, and I’m waiting for its leaves to turn to their vibrant yellow

I miss my grandchildren every day, and think of their beautiful smiles.

I miss Little Rock, where I lived for over 33 years.

God does not always meet me when I try to pray.

Praying can be lonely for me, sitting alone with my thoughts and my deepest heart desires.

The jazz music on my Pandora calms my soul, and I marvel at the talent that makes the music.

I love the warmth of the sunshine, but I hate it when the weather gets too hot.

I want to bake a German Chocolate cake and smell the memories of cakes gone by.

God is a mystery to me, in a sacred kind of way.

I miss my church in Arkansas.

I miss having my piano.

I’m afraid at the thought of having a kidney transplant.

I miss my best friends in Arkansas.

I wish I could see my son for a long, meaningful visit. The meaningful part is hard.

You don’t censor random thoughts. You just have them.

I love being near my brother, my sister-in-law and my cousins.

I am longing to see the leaves of the trees change their colors, creating a scene with “every common bush afire with God.”

There are hidden treasures in my heart. If only I could get in touch with them . . .

I wish my prayer time would always bring me to awe. It doesn’t. Not always.

I wish my random thoughts were more profound.

No one really cares about my random thoughts, but writing them down caresses my soul because I am honest with myself.

It is not the task of Christianity to provide easy answers to every question, but to make us progressively aware of a mystery. God is not so much the object of our knowledge as the cause of our wonder. -Kallistos Ware

As is my habit, I awaken early every morning before Fred is up, even before the sun is up. It is my intent to spend that early morning time drawing closer to God. I read the Bible, I listen to hymns, I read what others have written about relationship with God. And yet, at times I feel empty, devoid of any divine experience.

Sometimes it’s all just mundane reading. On some days, I may as well be meditating on the postman or the bug man. It’s not supposed to be that way, I know, but I am often filled with questions about how to draw close to God in a meaningful way. And then I ran across the quotation written by Kallistos Ware.

Becoming progressively aware of the mystery of God, as he puts it, seems to be my sticking point. When he says that “God is not so much the object of our knowledge as the cause of our wonder,” I am taken aback by the truth. It’s not about my reading and studying. It’s not about the knowledge I acquire about the Bible and other readings. It’s about discovering God anew every day in my spirit, not so much in my head. It’s about contemplating the mystery of God and allowing that contemplation to change me from within.

Perhaps it is more about sunrises than about scripture passages. Perhaps it is more about nature’s beauty than about philosophers’ writings. Perhaps it is more about my soul than about my brain. Perhaps it is not so much about my knowledge about God, but more about God as a mystery. Perhaps it is not so much about God as a divine friend, but more about God as the object of my wonder.

I think I’m on to something, maybe something life changing.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…” So begins one of the most beloved hymns of all times.The author of the words was John Newton, who was born in London July 24, 1725, the son of a commander of a merchant ship. When John was eleven, he went to sea with his father and made six voyages with him before the elder Newton retired. In 1744 John was impressed into service on the H. M. S. Harwich. Finding conditions on board intolerable, he deserted, but was soon recaptured and publicly flogged and demoted from midshipman to common seaman.

Finally at his own request he was exchanged into service on a slave ship, which took him to the coast of Sierra Leone, where he then became the servant of a slave trader and was brutally abused. John Newton ultimately became captain of his own ship and was involved in the slave trade.

Although he had some early religious instruction from his mother, who had died when he was a child, he had long since given up any religious convictions. However, on a homeward voyage, while he was attempting to steer the ship through a violent storm, he experienced what he was to refer to later as his “great deliverance.” He recorded in his journal that when all seemed lost and the ship would surely sink, he exclaimed, “Lord, have mercy upon us.” Later, he reflected on what he had said and began to believe that God had addressed him through the storm and that grace had begun to work within him.

For the rest of his life he observed the anniversary of May 10, 1748 as the day of his conversion, a day of humiliation in which he subjected his will to a higher power. He wrote, “Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come; ’tis grace has bro’t me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.” Although he continued in the slave trade for a time after his conversion, he saw to it that the slaves under his care were treated humanely.

Like all of us, John Newton was not a perfect person. He was enslaved by his own wrongdoing, just as we sometimes are. But what he found was a forgiving God who offered amazing grace.

I hope you will listen to an exquisite arrangement of this hymn on YouTube. Follow this link, scroll halfway down the page and you will see the video of BYU’s Noteworthy, a very talented a capella group.
http://inspiremore.com/noteworthy-sings-amazing-grace-a-capella/

As a part of this arrangement, they sing these words:

My chains are gone.
I’ve been set free.
My God, my Savior has ransomed me.
And like a flood His mercy reigns;
Unending love, amazing grace.

I pray that each of us find that our chains are gone, and that we bask in the light of God’s freedom and grace.

Grieving and mourning losses is not a once-and-done act. It is a process that takes twists and turns over time. We experience this when we feel fresh grief on a deceased loved one’s birthday. Or when we notice an empty place at the table at a holiday dinner. We have all known people whose mourning re-opens fully on the anniversary of a loved one’s death.

When I was a little girl, I wondered why my grandmother always wore black. As I grew up, I learned that her black attire was a reminder that she was mourning the death of my grandfather. She wore black for years, and in that way, made mourning a part of her life. We may think that this was not a healthy behavior for her. But perhaps it was more real than just moving on with life and putting her husband’s death out of her mind. Remembering every day when she dressed was her way of mourning a profound loss.

Grief and mourning don’t just show up for us after a tragedy and then instantly go away after the tragedy is over. There are some tragedies, in fact, that are never over, and grief and mourning are a part of our lives every day, as we mourn losses of all kinds. It helps to expect to grieve at the loss of a job, or a retirement, or through the reality of a chronic illness, or after moving away from friends. It helps to accept the fact that we all grieve our losses, and that we do it again and again. But underneath our grief is an everlasting hope that gives us strength through it all.

. . . We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters,about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.
1 Thessalonians 4:13

When we realize and accept mourning as a very real part of our lives, we will learn to mourn well and grieve appropriately. I love this simple prayer from The High Calling:

Lord, teach me to grieve, but with hope. Help me to mourn in the mysterious joy of your presence. Amen.

A beautiful young woman, Rosa, posted this memory on Facebook. When she was a young teenager, she participated in the Safe Places leadership program, which culminated in The Cinderella Ball. Like all of us, she remembers what an enchanted evening it was. These are her words:

This is how it all began . . . Once upon a time . . . ! This definitely made my night completely and brought so many memories! Thanks to Mrs.Kathy we had Safe Places; we were given the privilege to experience for ourselves that we were true princesses & had our night to shine at the Cinderella Ball!

Try as we might, we cannot live on memories. But we can be strengthened by them, and allow them to remind us of good times. I have to hope that the forty girls who were a part of the princess leadership program, and later presented at The Cinderella Ball, will take the lessons they learned from the summer program into their lives. I hope that their night of feeling like a princess at a grand ball will translate into a positive self-image that will forever remind them of their worth.

I look back with regret that the program could not continue, that we could not reach hundreds of girls. But that was not to be, and I have to rest on the fact that we did reach, over four years, at least forty of them whose lives were changed by the experience. The lesson for me is that you help the one person you encounter, and don’t despair that you couldn’t do more. That one person, like Rosa, may remember fondly what you did to enrich her life.

The Program? Well, it wasn’t about the prince. It was about young girls finding their own self-worth and learning to make a positive impact on their world. In the following brief video you will see them spending time teaching and leading at a local daycare center. Please watch The Cinderella Ball video and meet Rosa, and the other young girls in the program:

I read a wise saying recently: “Don’t start your day with the broken pieces of yesterday.”

What a great piece of advice for those of us who tend to carry around broken pieces in the form of regrets, feelings of failure, guilt, or any number of negative emotions. Bringing those emotions with us to a new day doesn’t give the day a fair chance to be a good one.

The quote goes on to say this:

Every day is a fresh start. Each day is a new beginning. Every morning we wake up to the first day of our new life.

I hang onto that bit of wisdom on those days that I start to regret lost hopes and unfulfilled dreams. This week, I was reminded of the anniversary of a very successful time at Safe Places, my nonprofit organization that served victims of violence. I had several memories about the work, about the people we helped, about my staff. But had a choice at that point. I could look back with regret that so many dreams were lost with the closing of Safe Places. Or I could look at over ten years of success in the lives of those we were able to help.

It just so happens that one of our former clients was featured on National talk radio yesterday where she told her horrific story that is just now getting its happy ending. My client carried around broken pieces for over seven years, but for her, yesterday was a fresh start, a new beginning filled with new hopes and dreams for the future. I am learning a lesson from her, and laying down a bag full of broken pieces right here on this road. Then I will continue on my brand new journey. New hope and fresh dreams ahead!

There is a very little book in the Bible that tells us a lot about living well. In response to some very scary things that were going on at the time, the book’s author wrote, But you, beloved, building yourselves up on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in the love of God, waiting anxiously for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to eternal life.

And the writer ends the letter with a beautiful benediction which says:

Now unto him who is able to keep you from falling and to make you stand without blemish in the presence of his glory with rejoicing, be glory, power and authority, now and forever.

This benediction says something about God and it says something about us. And I think if we sit down beside the still waters of these words and ponder their meaning, there will be something for us to hold in our hearts, something that might help us through life.

First, we learn something about God: that God is able. And that tiny little phrase says a lot. It says that when we are sick, or hurt, or in trouble, God is able to reach out to us and help us.

It also says that we are protected from falling. The fear of falling is very real. Falling is frightening. Mountain climbers rope themselves together with a skilled mountaineer who can take the weight, so that if they begin to slip, they won’t fall all the way.

And the writer of this benediction tells us to stay close — tied close to our divine protector, and tied close to each other. And that somehow, we’ll be kept from falling.

This is a great word of hope. Things really do go “bump in the night.” Life really does take wrong turns. Hearts do break. People disappoint us sometimes, and let us down. Life is sometimes dull and tasteless and downright painful.

But the little benediction says: There is One who is able to keep you from falling.

Annie Dillard tells about the monarch butterfly that flies, and makes it all the way across Lake Superior, a distance of about 500 miles, without a rest. Thousands and thousands of delicate butterflies make their way across that mighty lake each year.

But Annie Dillard says that none of them arrive without being wing-battered. “They are snatched at from behind. Hind legs torn off by the birds that picked on them along the way.” It really is rough out there.”

You probably know that.

So I hope you will also know that though our journey can be rough, and we are often wing-battered, there is a divine protector who is able to keep us from falling.

May the God of all hope fill you with joy and peace as you trust in Him. Romans 15:13

Sometimes I don’t feel much joy and peace, times when my very soul feels depleted. I have a notion that many people could say the same thing. At times, life circumstances rob our joy. There are also life circumstances that disturb our peace. Try as we might, we can’t seem to find a simple formula that fills us up again when our joy is depleted, when our peace is gone.

We must not despair during those hard times, knowing that joy and peace will return and, once again, our souls will be filled with all things good. The absence of joy and peace for a time is normal. It is a hazard of living in an imperfect world and being among imperfect people.

Joy and peace will return for those who trust in God. It works every time. I am grateful that, whatever trials we face, whatever rough roads we travel, “the God of all hope fills us with joy and peace when we trust in Him.”

And when our joy is restored and our peace has returned to us, the prophet Isaiah speaks words of grand celebration:

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will break forth into singing before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Isaiah 55:12

Country music star Tim McGraw sings a song with this line: “I don’t know why you gotta be angry all the time.” It’s a good question for us to ponder, especially those of us who find ourselves expressing anger more than any other emotion. It’s easy, however, to become so used to the feeling of anger that it begins to feel normal. It’s not unusual for an angry person to fail to recognize that he or she is angry.

The internet and the bookstores are filled with all manner of tools under the category of anger management. There is no shortage of self-help items, some of them fairly effective and others not so much. The truth is that those of us who are truly angry and chronically angry have been this way for a very long time. It’s not that simple to “manage” that away.

Certainly, we can be strong-willed enough, if we want to be, to manage the behavior that is caused by our anger. But that’s just a case of behavioral modification. We can do that. We do it all the time when we walk away before slugging another person.

I’m suggesting another thing, something very different than just managing our anger. I want to suggest that rather than managing our anger, perhaps we should transform it, not merely changing our behavior, but literally changing the emotion that has the power to control us. Not just managing anger, transforming it. That is real inner change that lasts. That’s genuine emotional change that goes beyond having the will power to walk away from a fight or an argument. Just walking away changes nothing. Consider also, that just walking away simply stores up that episode of anger to erupt at another time.

We can only store up so much anger in the baggage we carry around with us in life. Pretty soon, the baggage will be so heavy that we won’t be able to move it.

So what’s all this rhetoric about transforming anger? How in the world does one go about doing that? I have a few suggestions, some of them quite simple and straightforward. Not all of them will work for every person, but some of them will work, and will give you the power to transform the anger that controls your life. Here they are:

~ DO walk away from a fight or an argument, but when you do, take some time to write your feelings in a journal. Reflect on what happened and write it down. Date the entry and keep it for future reference. After you have written about several instances of your need to have an outburst, you may begin to see a pattern that will help you better understand yourself. Writing down emotions, in some sense, allows you to own them and even transform them.

~ Find one trusted friend that will listen to your feelings of anger and give you a safe, non-volatile place to vent your anger. Use that person as your sounding board and someone who is able to reflect back to you what you are feeling.

~ Own your angry feelings to the point of trying to discover what might be underneath all that anger. When you feel anger, is sadness underneath it? Or fear? Try to discover what’s underneath the masks you wear.

~ Where does your anger really come from? Explore within yourself and try to determine the source of your anger. What is really hurting you? How long have you felt this anger?

~ Meditate and pray. Place yourself in a peaceful environment. Ask God to help you transform your soul. Ask God to help you dissipate your anger. Remember that disappointment can be a mask for the anger you are holding inside. The longer you hold it, the more normal it feels.

These simple suggestions will not transform your anger overnight, but they are self-reflective enough to be much more than anger management techniques. The next time you have a need to stop your angry behavior in its tracks, commit yourself to also do a little inner exploration. You will find at some point that you are not merely managing angry episodes, you are transforming anger at its very core. That’s real transformation.

Life brings all manner of stress to any person at any time. It is one of life’s certainties that regardless of who you are, or how much wealth you have, or where you live, times of stress will assail you. So it is important that every person find ways to alleviate stress in whatever ways feel most helpful.

Years ago I lived in Uganda, East Africa during a time of political turmoil in that country. Everyday tasks could be stress-filled. A brief trip to the market could involve being stopped by armed soldiers. Finding yourself at the end of machine gun was frightening, to say the least. I experienced a great deal of anxiety and stress during those days, sometimes almost more than I thought bearable.

However, the view from my front door was a breathtaking mountain range we called the Mountains of the Moon. The range was the Rwenzori Mountains, located on the border between Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The highest peaks of the Rwenzori Mountains are snow-capped. Along with Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount Kenya, the Mountains of the Moon are the only snow-capped mountains in Equatorial Africa.

But enough geologic history for this article. The point is that looking from my front porch at the Mountains of the Moon took me to a stress-free place inside myself. No matter how oppressed or frightened I may have felt, a few minutes of mountain-gazing would slow down my heart rate and give me a chance to breath deeply again. The Mountains of the Moon created an escape for me from the stress of life, and that happened for me time after time, in many different situations.

It is important for each person to find their own “Mountains of the Moon,” to find that place of stillness and calmness, that place where the stress of life just melts away. I have found that life’s stressful moments, even life’s tragic moments, can be brought into perspective when I go to that place of calm.

I live in the United States now, and The Mountains of the Moon are no longer the view from my front porch. The view is not much to look at, in fact, and is actually a neighbor’s house. On top of that, as I age, life’s stressors can be even more serious and ominous to me. So I must look for those breathtaking views and magical moments wherever I can find them. I must find ways to take myself to a place of refuge that can calm me and give me peace. It’s definitely harder these days, but it’s absolutely worth doing.

I hope you will find your own “Mountains of the Moon.”

Yesterday I wrote about feeling empty. Today, I am struck by life in all its fullness. Yes, it is true that my life has its ups and downs. Yet, there is every reason for me to be “filled with all the fullness of God.” (Ephesians 3)

I am feeling so much better physically. I live in a nice home in a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. I have a wonderful, loving husband who cares for me day and night. I live close enough to my extended family that I can truly enjoy them. I lead a full life.

I have written many times about how sick I was through all of 2014. I cannot help but be grateful for my health now. I am feeling like a new person these days, strong, blessed with God’s Spirit, rooted and grounded in love. And I owe it all to God’s grace.

While I do feel strong physically, my deepest desire is to feel just as strong spiritually. I long for my spiritual journey to take me to the place described in Ephesians 3:16-19. It is a scripture passage about receiving the grace of God in covenant with us, and it speaks of a fullness that God is ready to bestow upon us. It promises that God will give us the gifts and graces we need, and in receiving those gifts and graces, we are “filled with the fulness of God.”

Ephesians 3:16-19 is really a prayer:

That according to the riches of his glory, God may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

And finally, an insightful quote by L.R. Knost:

Life is amazing. And then it’s awful. And then it’s amazing again. And in between the amazing and the awful, it’s ordinary and mundane and routine. Breathe in the amazing, hold on through the awful, and relax and exhale during the ordinary. That’s just living heartbreaking, soul-healing, amazing, awful, ordinary life. And it’s breathtakingly beautiful.

Embracing that brings fullness.

There are times when I feel empty. It happens mostly when I realize that I moved away from my closest friends, my church, my house, my son, my grandchildren, and the city that was my home for over thirty years. On some days, I feel this deep inner pain, a sense of “what have I done?” Other days, I feel relatively content in my new home in Georgia. Still other times, I feel just plain empty.

That’s the worse feeling of all . . . feeling completely empty, even without much emotion. It feels like you are a shell of a person without the rich emotions that make up the soul. That’s what the losses do. The grief steals the emotions like a grinch, The grief and the loss make the soul stop feeling, and you’re left with an inner nothingness. I don’t let myself get into that place of nothingness often.

In fact, if you ask those around me, they would say that I am coping well in my new home state. I stay busy. I write. I make art. I visit with my nearby family. I plant things. I cook gourmet meals. I pray and meditate every morning. I do all the things that make one appear to be content.

And the truth is that sometimes, most of the time, I am able to feel content. But still, there are times when I feel empty. At those times, I am comforted by these words:

Sometimes we have to give up the old and start preparing to live, for a while, empty, while we wait for the new to become illuminated in its proper time.