In the stillness, before I am in the swirl of family, presents, and food...I am here, Christmas Eve, present with Jesus, grateful for what he has done and what he is doing--seen and unseen.

We live in the Borough of Downingtown, Pennsylvania. Old buildings, lots of history. Stories tucked into houses longstanding. We live in a twin from the late 1800s and I don't know how many Christmases have been celebrated in this room. All the stories of grief and sorrow under this roof for generations. It is holy and human. We share a thin wall with our precious neighbors who will also celebrate Jesus' birth tomorrow. As I sit here and write, music from their piano makes its way through...I hear them sing with their three little ones…

A number of years ago, I taught Bible to seniors and sophomores at a private Christian School in Charlotte, NC. One of my goals was to create a classroom where questions and doubts were invited. In order to create this kind of atmosphere I designated every Friday as "Discussion Day." I gave them time to think, and then hands shot up. We would process and discuss their questions for the entire hour. It was never flat, they were never checked out. There was energy in that room every single Friday. It was good for me to receive these questions. Most of them were practical and honest. They had been carrying them around and had no place to release them. Come Friday, they unlocked the latch. They landed like a pile of tangled rope on my lap. One by one we pulled them apart.

It's 24 degrees as I write this reflection. My feeders are stocked, warm water is out, and the birds hang around all day long. I clip my dog’s hair (she's a Goldendoodle) and pack it into a little hanging cylinder for these birds to stuff the houses they rent on our porch. There is something about the birds, something about their regular presence and their predictable manner. They are messengers of hope.

Advent season assumes internal anguish. To wait is to ache.

Every human feels it. Something missing, unresolved, incomplete. I know you know what I mean. There are times when we feel that ache down to the bone.

David puts words to it in Psalm 63:1,

You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water.

Waiting provokes longing.

Creek Road stretches along the Brandywine River. It's one of my favorite drives in Chester County. I take this road on purpose, especially this time of year. Today, the sun shimmered through the branches of Autumn-brushed oak and towering sycamore trees, setting the ripples of the river into a dance of sparkle.

There’s really no way to describe it.

I told a student yesterday, "I know this may sound strange to you, but after you pass 40, you have to stop to think about how old you are when your birthday comes around." Her response was shocked, "No way!! I am sure that will not happen to me!"

But 16 years isn't that hard to keep track of. What about when your life collects decades? I sat this morning with pen in hand, paper, thoughts, feelings...I let myself sit with my collective years. Flying over the story of my life. There were tears. And gratitude. It’s tough to reconcile another birthday as I grieve the lives of those I have lost over months and years of living.

As soon as we passed the sign that said “Gently Used Books,” Scott drifted onto the shoulder, glanced in the rear view, and made that wide U-turn.

“I’m guessing you want to stop.”

Used book stores are an unspoken expectation. Every trip we take involves buying a book from a local used book store. I write the story on the front page of each find.

Scott and I talked at length about this trip to Maine and established one rule: “The only plan we have is not to have a plan.”

Are you starting the school year tired? Do you feel guilt creep up when you try to take time to tend to your anxiety, fears, and grief? Have you forgotten what you love to do, what brings you to life, and what you were made to offer to the world?

The best gift you can give to your family is a three-dimensional self who inspires those around you to thrive because you are thriving.

If you are going to watch a meteor shower, it’s not a bad idea to observe it in a solitary spot overlooking Taunton Bay in Sullivan, ME. A glass of blueberry-infused wine, your best friend, no humidity, sweatshirts…and a good pair of steady binoculars.

Like small blue flakes drifting slowly across the atmosphere, one after another after another, crisscrossing by each other across the dark expanse. Help me, please. Add a few shooting stars into the mix of magic, and you are officially wonder-full.

My grandmother was diagnosed with polio when she was a tiny kid. I still picture her sitting in her tweed, olive green armchair, legs crossed, wearing one big black shoe.

"What do you need right now?"

This is a question I ask my clients. When I was a counselor in a high school, I used to ask this question to students when they would wander into my office and throw themselves down on the futon. All dramatic like. It started with Cheeze-its and went from there.

There are MANY reasons I am ready for Jesus to wrap things up and bring Heaven to Earth, but one visit I can't wait for is sharing a cup of coffee with Philip Yancey. A mentor and hero of mine.

If you have never read a book by Philip Yancey, you need to. Reach out, and I will gladly recommend one of his 30 (+) books! He has been a primary influence on me. I continue to look to him for wisdom in our chaotic times. He leads me back to the truth; he always directs me to Jesus and His heart.

“I may want to drive around and look for rocks tomorrow.”

I washed up on the shores of mid-life and still don’t have a clue about “letting go.”

Preservation and self-protection clench me like a vice grip. Change. Loss. Leaving. Starting over. Moving on. These quakes come like ocean waves, crashing hard, toppling my sense of stability. Life, I’ve learned, is a cycle of receiving and releasing. Yet to open our hands is counter-intuitive and scary. To surrender our ship to the waves, feels irresponsible.

It's been 31 years since I turned my tassel, packed up my Subaru, and hugged my roommates goodbye. The future ahead was blank. There was nothing to hang my imagination on, no job secured, no friends down the hall. Strange. All of us, Cheryl, Cindy, Kris, and Michelle, blown into adulthood, in separate directions, never to share a bathroom again.

Guess who started a not-for-profit recycling business?

Gray and I came up with a plan. Well, I came up with it, she "willingly" participated.

"How about I give you a little clip and clip? We give your fur to the birds for their nests?"

If you have as much as glanced out the window these days, you've seen the sparrows, robins, and wrens scurrying about with twigs, leaves, and other random scraps sideways in their beaks. They flutter off to some secret spot, hopefully out of reach of Blue Jays and Crows 😠 (I know, I know...food chain. Whatever.)

It starts in your head and moves into your chest like a tight squeeze of anxiety. It's no wonder we all feel it. Picture a stick person with 62,364 electric lines plugged into his or her head, each one at full speed.

I got an email a few weeks ago, "Dawn, someone recommended you to be a speaker at an event for our organization. We have a retreat in March. Would you be able to talk for a few minutes this week?"

Who is ​The Sparrow Fund?​ 🤔

Lent isn’t as meaningful as it should be if we are not able to reflect and sit still. It will fly by like every other holiday. My scattered self makes Lent (and any time I am trying to connect with Jesus) a challenge. I feel it all the time.

However, the season of Lent, the rhythm of the sacraments, and the prayers handed down over the centuries harness our wild, impulsive selves. Think of them like a train track. A guide.