A Wildflower Morning

When I arose this morning, the wind was rattling anything loose out on the deck, which meant, there would be no fog. The sky was overcast, but thin enough at the mountains to let through some colored light, a few precious minutes of God's own light therapy for the day. Carolina Sandell Berg said in verse 2 of her famous hymn-poem, "Day by Day", "Every day the Lord Himself is near me, with a special mercy for each hour." A friend who knows of my seasonal struggle with the foggy weather, called this morning just to pray with me, and remind me of exactly that. There is a special mercy for each hour, maybe even for every moment. Here are some of the special mercies I've gathered already today. - Early this morning, my husband read the Word to me. God told us that Jesus is the light of the world. By looking to Jesus I can see light. Light is just what I need. Jesus is all I need. - Dear Daughter fixed breakfast for herself and brother, without being aske

It has been foggy here for endless days. Looking out the window, most days I can't even see as much as you can see in the picture above. The temperature hovers at freezing, or below, while I shiver. I need sun. I start dying when I can't see the sun, the strong pull drags me down faster the gravity. This week I knew I was in trouble by the weekend. Nothing tasted good. By Tuesday I was crying. Not even my full spectrum light was helping. Now I know why all those snowbirds go to Arizona in the winter. I'm ready to go with them, and I'm not retired. Talking with some friends about it did help some. Yesterday was a tear free day. But I needed sun! And today God gave some to me. Really! We could see the sunrise this morning. And there is blue sky out there. We took a walk first thing, and went the full two miles, just so we could soak in more. At the beginning of the walk I was still down, even though I knew I should be so happy. My mind was still in the

Yesterday I participated in a story of redemption. I was cleaning up some clutter on the floor, which lead to putting some things away in the craft cupboard. I opened the door and out fell a bucket of beads, minus the lid. Thousands of beads now lay at my feet. I was ready to get really upset at the careless person who left the lid off the bucket. The vacuum seemed like an easy way to package them back up and prevent this chore from happening to me again. But I slowed just a second and thought of how upset a young crafter might be the next time she wanted beads. I didn't think I'd want to tell her where they went. So I started to scoop up handfuls of the little rounds, and rolled them back into the bead bucket. Anger attempted to take control of me, but then I heard another child humming, "Redeemed. Redeemed. Redeemed by the blood of the Lamb." Those beads were really innocent, and very helpless. Their lives depend on a power outside of themselves for any