Uphill idealist

Pastor Cartwright's wife's name was Winnie. At least that is what I think her name was. No she wasn't "Winne the Pooh", but she was very friendly and kind. She had gray fluffy hair, a kind face, and a easy going way about her. All these characteristics were reasons I probably wasn't afraid to tell her about the dream I'd had. I was no more than 5 years old and I was sitting in her Kindergarten Sunday school classroom. There was I picture on the wall of Jesus and a multicultural group of children crowding around him. I really liked that picture. At some point, I'd had a dream about Jesus when I was in her class. In the dream, I was one of the children in the crowd huddled around him. In fact, at one point of the dream I was sitting on Jesus lap having a nice chat with him - probably about how much I loved my red patent leather Buster-brown dress shoes. No matter what I actually talked to Jesus about in my dream, I was so excited to have been ...

Image found at:  herecomesthestork There is a distinct difference in what I actually need and what I want. And if I'm honest, I know that all the seeking after the 'wants' can prevent me from digging into the needs I actually have. The last week has been a whirlwind of want/needs. When I pause to look at what I'm most grateful and least grateful for - I'm pointed to the spaces of need and the thin residue of want that often gets in the way. So, if you will bear with me - I'm going to do some thoughtful sorting this week in SWB. It may be a process that will take more than this one post. But the sorting has to start somewhere, right? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If you have ever watched those remodeling shows on TLC - you'll recall the keep, throw away, and donate piles that are necessary to come to a place of elbow room and change to whatever space is being reworked. If I were to remo...

It's been a while since "Sleeping with Bread" was a regular practice for me. A while back, there was a sweet little community of bloggers that would share in this Monday practice but over time, pressing schedules, and life's movements  - it was a practice that sort of fell away. One of our community posted this to his blog a while back to explain more of what Sleeping with Bread is -  So here are some thoughts from Unfinished Person... During the bombing raids of WWII, thousands of children were orphaned and left to starve. The fortunate ones were rescued and placed in refugee camps where they received food and good care. But many of these children who had lost so much could not sleep at night. They feared waking up to find themselves once again homeless and without food. Nothing seemed to reassure them. Finally, someone hit upon the idea of giving each child a piece of bread to hold at bedtime. Holding their bread, these children could finally sleep in peace...

Earlier today I came across a Facebook link for this article on Pathos called, "15 years ago today Rich Mullins died and I've missed him ever since." , that reminded me of a musical hero of mine: Rich Mullins. My husband Ian was the one who introduced me to the music of Rich Mullins over 20 years ago now and I'm thankful for that introduction. Rich's music was beautiful, challenging and authentic. Music with all those qualities is unique - just like Mr. Mullins.His song, "Step by step" was the first song I learned to play on my guitar. Step by Step: Here are a few videos of Rich. The first is a living room video of what was his last song and the second is one of my all time Rich Mullins' favorite. Enjoy and check out this link that shares about the movie project in progress that is based on Rich's life: Rich Mullin's: A Ragamuffins Legacy . Living Room Set: If I Stand: Movie Project Trailer: Thanks Rich - for everything.

It is the summer's great last heat, It is the fall's first chill: They meet. – Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt As Summer bids farewell, puts on her sweater and kisses Autumn loving "Salut."on her way out the door, what are you saying farewell and hello to this season? Photo taken in Jamestown NY on that first chilly morning that Fall arrived... Farewell to: Stacks of novels to read, sundresses, going sock-less, sunblock, swimming in Grams pool, trying to grow bed lettuce and bottomless glasses of un-sweet lemon iced tea. Hello to: Stacks of text books to read, Sweaters, jeans, Merrell boots (with long colorful socks), Milk and honey lotion, long hikes in fallen leaves, hot lentil soup for lunch and pots of rich-bold-coffee-with-honey or Earl Grey of course. Happy Fall Solstice! How about you? What transitions do you begin to make as you reach for your comfy fall sweater?

Every Monday a blogging community (including yours truly) used to share in a meme called Sleeping with Bread. This meme centered on the following prompts based on the book "Sleeping with Bread" .  WAYS OF ASKING THE QUESTION You can phrase the question in any of the following ways: For what am I most grateful? Least grateful? When did I give and receive the most love? The least love? When did I feel most alive? Most drained of life? When did I have the greatest sense of belonging? Least sense of belonging? When was I most free? Least free? When was I most creative? Least creative? When did I feel most connected? Least connected? When did I feel most fully myself? Least myself? When did I feel most whole? Most fragmented? The idea went like this -  Choose a question. Post a response to the question. Comment on at least one other person's post. Share some life, by sharing some bread. I've missed this blogging community and just wonder if there ...

In creative efforts, always work from and listen to your gut.  Connect with how and what you really think and feel... something important will surface.  Even if that important truth is for you alone - seek it out! How do you mine for your creative truth(s)? What practical tools help you to stay connected to that source? Which creative mediums (writing, art, music, exercise, etc...) help you to shake out of a dry spell? Image found at Palagems.com