I'm moving...

along.... out.... and on.

I'm moving.  No, I'm not changing my address.  Not that.  Not yet.  Nonetheless, my character is entering into the next act.  She's moving on.

She got used to the holding pattern that sometimes happens in one's life.  There were times she fought against it, tired of the waiting and wanting the certain.  And there were times of surrender, when she gave up her own vision.... the right to write her own story, and she trusted a better Writer.  There were times of great freedom when her trusting made any shackles of worldly fashion weak and useless.  She danced in this rain of grace, following, as she learned to read it, the Writer's story.

And then she doubted.  Were His leadings no more than her own fleshly whims?  There were some who would say, 'yes', and there were many others who didn't care enough to weigh in at all.  She had fully expected harmony.  She didn't want conflict and doubt, she wasn't writing that into her story.... but then she remembered how she had decided to trust the better Writer.

And so, the shackles fail once again to bind her, failing under the tension of truth and grace.  In the safety of His story, that is sometimes dangerous... she moves on.

How the Writer has blessed:

a good report for a woman loved:  the margins are clear!

waking early to daylight

feeling ready to get up

sleep having done its job

the way a chicken cooks in a pot

eating artichokes with our fingers

unwrapping them like presents

the voice of my god-daughter on the line

being inspired, over and over, by the faithfulness of a friend

a good report for another beloved:  no cancer!

hearing my boy and girl sing solos

his deep, growing up voice

hers sweet and lilting and in tune

a place for resting, reading, teaching, thinking, praying

made with sun and well- watered trees

just outside my back door

this Sarah Bessey post

being inspired to make more of the days rhythms

the sacred echo of this

finding my way


and more, where words aren't necessary: