upon my waking

Many days, upon my waking

my heart is so heavy and full of terror that I cannot find the strength to get out of bed.

I have done many things that I now remember with shame and despair,

and old hurts dealt me by those who purposed in their hearts to harm me

wound me afresh.

I reach out to You then,

asking You to help me to remind myself

that I have been forgiven and have myself forgiven,

and that all this trouble is behind me.

As I remember this and receive it anew, peace returns.

It seems to me that my enemy waits at my bedside to catch me unawares,

and he is so often successful.

How fortunate am I, however,

that You, my Lord and Savior and Friend,

are waiting at my bedside as well,

to catch my hand and my heart with Your fresh and tender mercies

upon my waking.



Your promises are here today

Just as they were here yesterday, and will be tomorrow.

Never mind whether I lift my hands or

that I am unable to lift my head without help –

If I stumble as I walk, You will save me from falling and never judge me.

Nothing I can do will increase the grace You have given me,

And nothing I neglect to do will lessen it.

I come looking for you in the cool of the day,

in the early morning or

in the golden hour, before night falls.

I know I will find You,

because you never leave.

My heart always expects you to abandon me;

I know it’s what I deserve.

But You are always here.

That is grace.


North Wind


I suppose that in every era, those who believe in Christ feel that they live in an era of non-belief, a time when mankind generally thinks that God is dead, or that God is not to be known intimately, because He is the dread God, with an unsearchable face, vengeful and violently jealous.

This time that we live in now certainly feels that way. A believer in Christ is a joke, or an uneducated babbler, an irrelevant fool whose words are nothing but sound and fury and embarrassment.

The road that the believer goes upon is not an easy road, nor is tit he one that is most obvious. There are few signs here that this is even a true road. It looks as though no one has passed here for many long years. The over-hanging brush has not been cleared away, and there are fallen branches and trees that make the path well-nigh impassable at times. But it is the way.

You know it in your heart, and you can do no other than take the road less traveled.

It is a road of humility, because you will be humiliated. It is a road of reverence for God, but you will not be reverenced or respected. His words will be your words, and few will appreciate those words, for they expose and seek to change lives that don’t seek to be changed.

Are we prepared to take this journey? He will make us so. Are we prepared to allow the winds of adversity to blow on us and shake our lives, so that we can be ready for the work that He puts before us? Those very winds will blow the fragrance of God about, and allow others to see that though we are broken and troubled like everyone else, God works beautiful things into our lives because we hold fast to Him.

“Awake, north wind, and come, south wind! Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread everywhere. Let my beloved come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” – Song of Solomon 4:16

It’s a journey that not many are bold enough to take. But it is the way.


One Traveler

In all my travels, whether at home or abroad, I have often found myself wanting to wander off the beaten path.

I mean, yes, I buy the tickets for the tours that guidebooks and travel websites suggest, and I have never been sorry to explore a castle or gaze at a famous painting. I know that there are sights in every city and country that demand my attention, and I would have regretted missing the Colosseum or the Tower of London while I was in Rome and London. They simply had to be visited, and that was that.

But my most poignant and powerful travel experiences have been the small moments I was graced with that showed me the heart of a place; bursting in on my imagination with a true sense of the history or the comfort of a place, those times took my breath away and left me with a desire to continue trying to capture travel experiences in such small and precious snapshots.

On a walk through Vedbaek, Denmark, while listening to the silky thresh of breezes on tall grasses and red poppies, I heard a cuckoo bird. I was stunned, because, while I had heard that call all my life in the chiming of a German cuckoo clock in my parents’ kitchen, I had never known that the cuckoo bird truly made that sound. I stopped in my tracks to listen while all around me were the cool woods, soft pastures and orderly fences of the Danish countryside, enthralled. What if I had taken the train that day?

On the Isle of Capri, my traveling companions and I, having ogled the Gucci and Valentino boutiques, oohed and aahed over the magnificent jewelry in the shop windows near the plaza, and having been stung by jellyfish in the Mediterranean all while feeling oh-so sophisticated, decided to take a detour and stroll down a small residential street that no tourists were paying any attention to. Much too small for a car, and even for more than two people to walk abreast, we journeyed down the twisting little stone path, past dentist’s offices and hair salons, their doors standing open to catch a breeze, peopled by shopkeepers visiting with their patrons. We caught bewitching glimpses of courtyards filled with flowers and vegetables; every home had a lovely terracotta name plaque at the gate, and every path to each door beckoned us, tantalizing us with thoughts of those who were lucky enough to live there, the scent of lemons and salt air and roses washing over them both day and night. We saw Capri that day in a very personal and intimate way, as a place one could call home even after the summer crowds had dissipated. That day we found the heart of the place by turning left instead of right.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry that I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth…”

Robert Frost, in his poem “The Road Not Taken” that I have cited above, says it perfectly. I find myself when traveling standing at the divergence of two roads, wishing I could visit them both and remain one traveler. But when I am given the choice, I, like Mr. Frost, will always choose the road less traveled.