The Weary Life Though I barely come, I come. Though I am weary, I search. Your invitation has roused me and given me the strength to crawl into your light. To inch out of shadows, and awaken to hope. With so many demands, I stop and listen. Exhausting fears (about the future), taxing worries (for those I love), and the toxic belief: “It’s all is up to me,” I come. In the stillness I sense you, and from you I access peace. In the quiet I hear you, and with you I have company.

Each day I drive past this stream insulated by the winter landscape. It leaves me contemplative and thoughtful. When I say it is glorious, I mean, it is glorious. I can't help but stop and take notice of this beauty in a season that appears lifeless. Growth is happening below the surface; every year we are trusting this to be true. Seeds are frozen, paused...waiting...but every so often a-flutter with movement no one can see. Maybe you feel frozen in a season of gray clouds,