☀️ Come

all who are weary and burdened,

which if we are honest,

is all of us:

fishermen and tax collectors,

doubters and zealots,

betrayed and betrayers,

women and children,

lame, blind, lost, bullied,

teachers, preachers, seekers,

carpenters, welders, garbage collectors,

doctors, mechanics, managers.

Regardless of skin colour,

earthly status or physical health,

or anything else —

the invitation is always, “Come.”

Come to me; listen and live,

follow and see what I, the Lord God,

have done…am doing…will yet do.

Come and find rest in me.

☕️ Friday Night

A Saturday Caesura

It is Saturday and it is a blue-gold one, one that holds all the mercies of a new day. Last night, in the fog of Friday Fatigue I struggled to find anything to write. So I focused on my surroundings, my place at that moment, and discovered much to be grateful for…

I am sitting lengthwise on the couch that keeps its back to the wood stove so that I have full view out the front window as well as the window to my right, the one that faces the sunrise each morning, the one where perennial sweet peas crowd round to peer in like pink-cheeked nosy neighbours. Tonight I am mostly peering out the front window, watching the chimney smoke fall in gentle breaths on the mottled yellow-green leaves still clinging to the trees hovering over the now-empty garden boxes. My Mother’s Day fuchsia sits atop the wood pile on the deck, its fairy-dancer blossoms pirouetting amidst graceful leafy cascades. The sun has set. Dusk unfurls a soft grey hush. The wind grows sleepy.

Inside, a floor lamp spreads its light across my page, burnishes warm hues in the bamboo flooring. I am warm, perhaps a bit too warm now that the fire is fully engaged. I could cast off the worn afghan and fleece sweater that cocoon me, but I don’t. I like the weight of the afghan — it anchors me to the couch, calms me. A pot of water on the stove sizzles a merry melody; an off-beat percussive crackle or pop from the fire accompanies the rhythmic whir of the fan. It is good to be home. It is good to bring another work week to a close. It is good to just rest.

And there was evening, and there was morning. And there was goodness in between.

☀️ Rest

A Sunday Doxology

To the God who offers rest
from the weary weight
  of doing striving becoming,
from the surprising burden
            of emptiness—
Your invitation to come,
    to come
        to come
            to find
rest for our souls,
lingers
with a lengthening sweetness,
with a compelling hope,
with the undeserving promise
of your gentle, humble presence.