a prophetic voice-

         Several days ago I was going through some things resurrected from a little-used storage space, only to discover a scrapbook containing my “Made for Living” columns. Back in 1980, my family moved to South Florida, to a “new” community called Coral Springs, not far from Fort Lauderdale. There, we quickly became part of a church family at Lutheran Ministry in Christ, affectionately and widely known as LMIC, a growing congregation composed mostly of families similar to ours, with children and youthful (thirty- and forty-something) parents, with a smattering of elders and singles. I tell you all this because it was through a new friend at LMIC that I obtained my job at the local weekly newspaper, The Coral Springs Forum, and began the nearly five-year adventure of writing a weekly column. Janice had been writing the column, “Made for Living”, for several years and wanted to give it up, as her life had become too busy with her other, full-time job in real estate. And since I lo

the world washed clean                 by nighttime's crashing                    storms window screens dapp led                      with remnants of Nature's                     tears or were those tears mine, the ones that wet the                     pillow the storm without a mere reflection of the raging tempest                     within and now as i see the world without as fresh and                      clean i find myself longing for that same clarity                      inside of purpose and design, of truth and honesty and                       hope and most of all, of love, connection with and for the                       world or at least the little corner of this cosmos where i                       reside a taste of holiness is all my hungry soul                       desires a touch of divine healing in the form of human                       flesh that my self may be washed clean and walk proudly, boldly         

Glorious! That’s the only word to describe last week’s weather in this part of Carolina. Blue, blue, cloudless skies…low humidity…temperatures in the upper 70s…balmy breezes, all combined to produce throw-open-all-the-windows-in-the-house-and-BREATHE weather. With our recent surplus of rain, everything was green...green of every shade and nuance and generous beauty, punctuated by the brilliant palate of blooming flowers frolicking in virtually every yard, around every street corner. The world was wonderfully, beautifully, GLORIOUSLY alive! And yet, in the midst of all that beauty, that manifestation of life flourishing yet again in the natural world, I found myself struggling to pay attention, to enjoy and appreciate the message being shouted all around me, as my heart was filled to overflowing with a sad heaviness which clouded my vision and overburdened my heart. Even as I sat on my lovely screened porch to eat breakfast, on my backdoor deck to have my dinner…even as the birds inv

Spent a most enjoyable afternoon with a remarkably appreciative audience watching "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel", one of the best movies I have seen so far this year... and I've seen several good ones. This delightful British film focused on the later-life decisions of a number of "elders" to spend out their remaining years in Rajasthan, India, at this hotel which had been advertised as a place for the elderly and beautiful. The sights and sounds of India are beautifully presented, as are the intricacies of relationships when people are thrust into life with strangers. To me, this lovely film has at its heart the ways in which past and present can so wonderfully merge...focusing on dealing with and letting go of the past and daring to live fully in the present, regardless of age. The audience in our theatre, composed mostly of people of a certain age, burst into applause at the end, which gives you some idea of how fully this movie spoke to us. I laughed heart

When I look into the mirror, I see silver hair, a well-lined face, a drooping jawline and crinkly neck...eyebrows thinned and marked with white, eyes no longer blue but greying, like all the rest. But all of this is surface stuff, the "me" seen at first glance by folks I pass on streets, in supermarket aisles, or in the pews of Sunday morning church... the ones who never go beneath the aging surface to see the interesting, intelligent, fanciful, and often funny "me", the "me" I really am.                                         How can they know that every                                         line that marks my face, each                                         silver hair gracing my head has                                         been hard-won...earned along                                         my journey's way, badges of                                         of courage which mark the path...                            

Sisters...      is any other relationship      more fraught with      joys and tears, with      memories shared, with past and present      intermingled in ways      both intricately complex and                childishly simple? Sisters...      can any other relationship      make you feel so simultaneously      overwhelmingly proud and                 blushingly foolish?      unflinchingly loyal and                 deeply competitive?      fiercely protective and                 incrediby defensive? Sisters...      no other relationship      can take the place of      bonds formed over time and space,      of deep connections forged so tight                 that they cannot be broken. Sisters...      today I am so thankful for                 my sisters.